


The 72 Rules of Cat Grant

by notoriousjae



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, F/F, Friends With Benefits, I'm not even sorry., Lesbian Sex, Tags May Change, This will eventually have a lot of smut in it.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-02-27 17:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 156,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13253238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoriousjae/pseuds/notoriousjae
Summary: “Kara.” Cat dangerously whispers against her shoulder, all heat and fire, nails raking down an impenetrable back like daggers that desperately try to carve a name in steel. She arches up when fingers slowly swirl--circle--push upwards and curl and set fires to a wick left between them, both of their bodies sinking into a made bed like it's home, words forever lost into a panting mouth: “Fuck the rules.”Rule #50. Cat Grant always gets what she wants.--Kara Danvers has spent over a decade perfecting the art-form of list-making. She's always taken great care in shaping a strict set of rules for herself to follow in order to not stand out--to seem perfectly ordinary--but when her relationship with her boss changes from strictly professional to strictly-professional-with-benefits, Kara starts to wonder if there's really any rules in life, at all.Or...if there's at least any rules for (definitely not) falling in love with Cat Grant.Super!Cat fic (with a shameless amount of M-rated action throughout). Set from Season One through the end of Season Two. And then some.





	1. The 72 Rules of Cat Grant.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've maybe written this fic inbetween my other Supercat fic-- _Wailagehd_ \--for some light, easy times (who would've though I would need to write a fic to get my head away from writing a _musical_??). Maybe light doesn't really apply considering the fact that this fic will have a bit of a ride throughout, but at least there will be some good lady-loving to look forward to. 
> 
> Again, you've been warned that the majority of this fic will be Rated M. Maybe not this chapter...but, uh...all of the rest of them will be. So just a blanket statement, now: There will be sex.
> 
> FYI--I haven't seen any of Season Three. Just one and two on Netflix, so expect an AU!fic once this fic reaches season two-on.
> 
> Thank you for reading! :) Please feel free to leave your comments, thoughts, and critiques. I love me some critiques.

Despite appearances, Kara Danvers has spent a very meticulous decade memorizing rules.

\--

 **Rule #1.** **Never Cry at Work. Ever.**

The moment she's hired and standing in a soon-to-be-familiar desk, this is the first thing Cat Grant tells her replaceable assistant, glasses perched on her nose and annoyance cloaking her tone like an expensive perfume.

"I don't put up with emotional tantrums or insecurities. If you want someone to coddle you or hold your hand, go apply for the Oxygen Network. We don't have time for you to put feminism back 50 years in journalism, so if you want to cry, do it outside." 

Despite a very confused Alex (or even more bemused Kal-El), Kara decides she likes Cat Grant. She likes her a lot.

\--

From the time the alien crash-landed on a foreign planet she started memorizing time tables and laws of Science (that weren’t…always actually accurate) to fit in. Kara Zor-El-Turned-Danvers memorized a Bible of tenets that Jeremiah set forth for her to blend into society and kept an even longer list in Kryptonian dictating the careful guidelines that would become the very strict parameters for her life. At first, her rule book started as a list of Earth’s strange rules and customs--

_Only speak English in America. It’s ok to learn the rest of them (Languages are fascinating!) but don’t speak them. People are really weird about Tagalog in Midvale._

_Don’t talk about stars outside of the Milky Way_

_Don’t talk about Combinatorics over dinner with anyone but Jeremiah because Earthlings don’t know about the 66th rule of Bent Dynamics, yet_

But eventually the rules evolved into something far more careful and precise--guidelines on how to fit in. Guidelines on how to be perfectly normal--the opposite of a danger to people on Earth--a guideline, as Jeremiah once explained to her, stars highlighting the lines of his jaw like how they used to highlight the stark, bold lines of the mountains on Krypton, " _t_ _o_ _protect_ _our_ _family.''_

 _Our family._ became the title of several of Kara's rulebooks, protective in bold lettering and stark lines, even when Jeremiah left. 

\--

 **Rule #2.** **Cat Grant Always Arrives at 7:05 AM. (Wake up at 6:32 AM on the dot in order to go to Noonan’s.)**

Kara’s shoulders sag as far down as her eyes might sink into her cheeks, circles highlighting dark pools of exhausted blue, coffee tucked against a hip as she perches next to an elevator. The ding rounds throughout the hall and Kara is waiting, chin tipped back to meet the faint surprise of her employer’s gaze.

It’s clear Cat Grant never expected her assistant to make it through the previous day, let alone come in for a second one, ready and knowing.

It's the worst day of her life, Cat intentionally trying to break her with every ridiculous command she can think of.

Kara Danvers likes a challenge and when she shows up for Day Three, it seems like Cat Grant likes one, as well.

It's the first time Kara sees her smile--a bare quirk of lips and an intoxicating crinkle at the edges of eyes-- and she tries not to think about how it reminds her of the sunsets on Krypton, the faint chill causing wisps of breath to turn to ice in front of smiling lips.

\--

If she went against the rules, she would put her family at risk (Alex most of all) and as soon as Kara learned to write with ink, Kryptonian symbols well-hidden and treasured from the planet that sought to expose her, the small girl kept a different list of tenets:

_Don’t squeeze Alex too hard. (Even when you really, really want to)_

_Don’t fly unless Alex scouts you and it’s between 4 am and 6:13 AM_  - ( On a notebook somewhere, tucked safely in an attic overflowing with paper, this bullet point exists with several scratched out marks inbetween two times, a series of tests ran and failed via Scientific Method by two very determined sisters).

 _Never, under any circumstances, run fast at track. A 9 minute mile is apparently just great. (Practice with Alex until you run just a_ _little_ _slower than her)_

\--

 **Rule #3.** **_Latte, Skim/Non-fat._ **

  * **_Addendum - If dark circles underneath Ms. Grant’s eyes, Two shots of espresso_  (Do not tell her) _._**
  * **2nd** ** _Addendum_** **\- Tea on Wednesdays. Try different blends.**
  * **_Note: Passion Tea. No classic. Two pumps of vanilla. **scratched out ** It makes her smile._**



**Tea on Fridays, after work. Decaffeinated. (** **_Seems Cat Grant is drawn towards the Himalayas? --try different coffee blends for home, too, to stock pantry. Dry beans only)._ **

\--

 **Rule #4.** **Never call out sick.**

Kara is never sick, but Winn Schott Jr. is. She’ll cover him before she knows what the word _cover_ really means--bullets a foreign concept despite the fact that she knows she can deflect them with a flick of the wrist, Cat Grant a far more present threat in her life--becoming surprisingly adept at the art of misdirection for her boss by the end of her first month. When Winn comes back the next day to a knowing look from Cat and a relieved sigh from Kara, warning him to hide the sniffle of his sneeze in his elbow. A small form with the booming power of Rao in her voice bellows for the ‘nerd guy’ to fix her computer instead of firing him for his absence and somehow, Winn becomes Kara's best friend.

And eyes watching from across a sea of pristine halls and desks (kept spotless by a knowing assistant), glasses perched on the edge of a nose, become a dangerous threat to Kara’s decade-long struggle for the appearance of normalcy.

Cat Grant, Kara knows, is under the assumption that Kara is not normal despite years full of insistence, and there's nothing that Kara can do from this point to argue her case.

What’s more surprising is that Cat doesn’t confront Kara about her heroism, only calls _Kiera_ into her office and nods, nails clicking on the edge of her desk. “I don’t fire people for being sick, Kiera.” She notes, “I’m not a ruthless dictator. I fire them for not doing their jobs and causing the building to go into turmoil without them. Don’t worry, it’s not a concept you would need to familiarize yourself with. You’re replaceable.”

Kara searches Cat’s eyes, oddly curious despite the curling of her fingers in front of her waist.

“And so is Mr. Schott. But today...you proved yourself useful enough to stay.”

There’s a long pause, Cat turning around in a way that makes Kara want to immediately prove her wrong about the both of them, an argument for her war buddy (they’ve both been through the trenches of Cat’s fire together, now--an unbreakable bond) fresh on her tongue. But instead of reminding Cat that she is replaceable--ordinary--and that Winn is extraordinary…

She decides she’ll show her, instead, in a 22 second mile of efficiency. Alex isn't here to overtake her, after all.

“How’d it go?” Winn asks when Kara leaves the office, voice quiet and eyes a little frightened, teeth chewing on the end of a pen that's seen far better days.

“Well...we’re...not fired?” Kara guesses, tugging out a page and starting to write a list, eyes trained on Cat Grant in the corner of her vision the entire time, other hand curling along the edge of her desk. “So kind of the best I could ask for, with Cat.” Winn’s hand curls around her shoulder, smile wide an unassuming, nose still red from a cold.

“Come on, I’ll buy you some Chinese. You love Chinese food, right? I see you scarfing it down--not that,” His hands raise, “You scarf because that is _not_ a compliment or something I should be saying to a girl.” Kara’s gaze doesn’t drop, her pen stilling as she watches Cat turn towards the monitors highlighting blonde locks with silver trails of light. “Earth to Kara? Hey, I think your pen is broken…”

Kara blinks, looking up at Winn with a slow-spreading smile, tossing both the pen and the paper into her desk without a second thought, laughing a little. “Yeah, sorry. I guess I’m just...sort of surprised Cat didn’t fire us.”

“Well let’s go cele--brate.” His voice is light, breaking into a coughing fit in his elbow, Kara immediately moving to cover him from eyes she can _feel_ piercing across the office.

“Let’s go get you home. Oh my--Winn!" It's scolding, "You have a fever.” Her hand skims down to pat his cheek, gently-- _gently_ \--tugging him towards the elevators, ignoring the feeling of Cat’s eyes on her back the entire time.

Winn’s desk is literally fumigated the next morning, Winn banned from the office for the rest of the week until he can get a doctor’s note to prove he’s _fine_ , not the reverse.

Kara’s lips tug upwards at the edges everytime Cat steers clear of the desk by a near mile, refusing to even breathe the same air near it.

Dictator Cat Grant definitely isn't.

 **_Addendum: Cat Grant is a genuine_ ** **_germaphobe._ **

\--

By the time Kara had been with the Danvers long enough for Jeremiah to disappear just like the stars had from around her dying planet--just like Rao had left them and she had left Rao--the list was full of so much notebook paper that several boxes had been devoted to Kara’s “Anal Contain-all” (As Alex eventually lovingly called it). Books upon books of lists with symbols littering their white pages, simple, memorized rules becoming an artform to a girl that hadn't quite learned to paint. Eventually Alex, just as kind but not quite as soft as age started to push them forward, became the guiding voice in her ear and Kara learned how to fit in and be just enough to be...normal.

 _'Normal'_.

\--

_**Rule #5. Keep all desks neat up to Cat Grant’s desk. This includes all desks on the path from the elevator down the hall. (Clean Winn’s desk when he is not looking and ignore all of the really awkward browser history on his computer)** _

**\--**

Making very detailed, carefully-set, dignified rules was quickly the only thing Kara was allowed to truly _excel_ at, even if her lists were always hidden away for no one in the world but her sister to see. Occasionally, Alex would tug out one of the lists and make her sister blow a gust of wind against faint ink, waiting until it filled in to practice her rare-used  _Kryptonian._

But there were some lists--some rules--that Kara never let stray too far from her fingertips.

\--

_**Rule #6. Dry Cleaning every day. No exceptions. Pick up off desk chair at 7:05 AM, drop off at desk 5:17 PM. (This does not excuse from 7:11 AM debriefing...how does someone without superpowers do this job?)** _

**\--**

The rules for working with (and surviving) one Cat Grant and CatCo was one of such lists. Kept carefully tucked in a desk and written in an ink only very, very ‘ _perceptive’_ eyes might read, littered with notes and Kryptonian-perfected lines, were the 72 Rules of Cat Grant. Kara’s pride and joy.

It's the Schindler of lists. 

Without the Nazi's or...anything Schindler-related.

\--

_**Rule #7. Arrange desk following diagram on back page (see section 2.B)** _

 

_**Addendum -** **Rule #8.** **Do NOT sharpen pencils prior to leaving them on desk. Ms. Grant likes to sharpen them in order to brandish at new employees or Maxwell Lord.** _

 

_**Rule #9. Do not let Maxwell Lord into Cat Grant’s office under any circumstances.** **(Do not trust Maxwell Lord.)** _

**_\--_ **

She would attribute these rules to her ability to survive at CatCo underneath Cat Grant for so long and would, one day, attribute them to being underneath Cat Grant, at all. But the list didn’t start off so damning. The list started simple, unassuming--a learning, living being to protect and guide a lost daughter of the House of El through her first real attempt at being extraordinary on Earth.

\--

 **Rule #10.** **_Ms. Grant likes 15 minutes in-between meetings. She will never ask for this, but she likes the time to prepare._ **

**_\--_ **

Kal-El warns and snipes and teases his cousin about her chosen workplace--he’d worked with Cat Grant for nearly a decade before she left to create her company, after all--but Kara never finds the harshness in Cat’s eyes. Instead, she routinely finds familiarity--warmth. Something hidden at the edges like Kryptonian most wouldn’t be able to read on a paper carefully tucked away in the corner of a desk. 

\--

_**Rule #11. Cat Grant never asks for anything. She demands. Accommodate her before she asks. (** **See if Alex has any pseudoscience articles on telepathy??)** _

_**Addendum --** **Plot-twist, see if J’onn can help. (**_ ** _Note: J’onn says he is never looking into Cat Grant’s mind ever again)_** _\--_ This note is added far later, ink fresher on the page than the worn notes before it

\--

Days at CatCo turn into weeks--months--a year. Her intentionally unassuming outfits--safe and quiet and _nondescript_ \--find a layer of armor underneath them, ridges of a crest embossed and hidden underneath their fabric, and Kara still finds herself every morning at CatCo on the dot ( **Rule #2** ), coffee and smile in hand, eyes lingering on the way Cat's fingers curl around the cup. 

\--

 **Rule #12.** **_Draw up manifestos for all clients/partners/etc prior to meetings and place on Ms. Grant’s desk immediately after meeting. (She does not mind eavesdropping as long as there’s no discussion or acknowledgment of the eavesdropping taking place. Exception to this rule: All conversations with Carter (Addendum: & Adam) are not to be heard)_ **

**\--**

Kara has secret meetings over the office of a boss she can hear pace back and forth. Kara writes down lists for likes and dislikes--Cat’s favorite champagne and Carter’s favorite comicbook store--and finds a half-life split between two worlds. She hides the list from Alex’s prying eyes and never questions why, nights spent memorizing the barest flicker of gesture on Cat Grant’s face like it holds the meaning of the world behind it.

Like Cat Grant is a painting Kara hasn’t quite figured out the strokes to, yet.

Somewhen, Kara's fingers itch to  _draw_ her, (and she refuses to admit how creepy it is).

\--

 **Rule #13.** **_Do not coddle other crying employees. No crying tolerated, period. (Gently guide crying employee into nearby office to console. Ms. Grant does not go into offices that aren’t her own and she won’t mind that the desk isn’t neat in the office she never sees)_ **

**Rule #14. _When Cat’s ex-husband calls, immediately put him on hold for an extra seven minutes before patching him through unless Cart is involved._**

**\--**

Kara is drawn more and more to an enigma--to a person whose list only grows in complications and bullet points--

\--

 **Rule #15.** **_Always keep spare change of clothes for Ms. Grant in office closet. Scared employees spills coffee and she is less likely to fire if she has a reason not to. Make sure the outfit matches her heels. (Dark blue is always a safe bet)._ **

\--

And the list only grows and expands until it has a life of its own.

Cat Grant might not get her name right, but she starts to wish her goodnight before she leaves, expecting Kara to always be at her desk before she goes (And Kara always makes it a point to be, whenever possible).

 **Rule #16. Attached is a honed system for schedule organization. (** **_Unsure if Cat was sarcastic or serious about request for a powerpoint presentation for procedure?...it’s on the Google Drive if Winn needs it; See file: “I can’t believe I actually made this I hope I still have a job.pptx”; Give Winn a translation to this list in English. Or maybe let him learn Kryptonian.)_ **

**\--**

Kara starts to take over more and more pages with small notes and likes. And rules. Parameters for success to live by--codes of honor and conduct around and spoken by Cat Grant. She starts to become a personal assistant as much as a professional one, memorizing the way a pantry looks in an apartment uptown. She knows Carter’s shoe size and that he has a crush on a girl in his third period class.

\--

****Rule #17. _Carter is more important than CatCo. Attached is a detailed list of his schedule (See section 3.C)_**

  * _**13.a: First weekend of the month -- arrangements for Week with Dad (Make sure to bring Cat extra coffee all week. Bring coffee for all other people who deal with Ms. Grant, as well, they’ll need it.) All other weeks:**_
  * _**13.b: Mondays/Wednesdays, Carter office-time.**_
  * _**13.c: Fridays, walk Carter home from school (** **Walk, do not take car)**_
  * _**13.d: Thursdays and Saturdays, tutoring. (** **Text him--always text him beforehand)**_



**_\--_ **

**Rule #18. Only teach Carter Science. (** **_Call Alex and have her teach Carter Earth-Sc_ ** **_ience. Teach Carter Math)._ **

“Do you remember when you and Dad used to nerd out about Math--what was the last one you--”

"Combinatorics, I think." Kara knows, but doesn't know the Earth-name for the last theoretical Math she'd discussed with Jeremiah before he disappeared, and never bothered studying into it. 

“What are combinatorics?” Carter asks, brows knitting as he watches Kara’s fingers gently scratch at the corner of a page of his homework, sighing. Her fingers rub over a temple, offering him a far-too-wide smile that she’s learned (super-hearing) can kind of creep him out, every once in a while.  

“Nothing. Alex--Hey, Alex!” Kara taps on the phone, a rather goofy, askew picture of her sister there to greet her, a grumbling voice on the edge of sleep greeting them, yawning over a cup of coffee at the D.E.O, a few miles away. “Can you explain that last one to Carter, again?" He's not getting it--she can tell by the small crease of his brow and the thin set of his lips. He looks exactly like Cat when she's frustrated, sometimes. 

“My mom isn’t paying you for this, right?”

“I wish.” Kara grumbles. She’s paid more than Kal-El would’ve ever thought--being the highest level assistant in a major corpration did have some benefits. Even if sleep wasn’t one of them--but she's not paid for Saturdays. This is a volunteer mission, and one she doesn't want to seem  _too_ eager about, otherwise she can imagine Carter milking it.

“Why aren’t you paying _me_ again?” Alex snipes through the line and Carter chuckles, biting into a full fluff of pancake (one of the three stacks Kara had made, another two sitting on her own plate), the younger sister flicking the phone like a distracted ear be able to hear it.

“Alex, come on.”

“Okay--okay--” Alex sighs and tries again, patient in the way she was twelve years ago, inches taller. Even though she’s only looking at the picture on a phone, Kara still smiles--thankful and quiet--giving Carter a knowing look as she nods towards his almost empty-stack.

“As soon as you get the rest of the problems right, I promise we’ll go do the laser tag thing.”

“Promise?” Carter mouths over Alex’s explanation.

“Promise.”

An hour later, Kara lets Carter cream her at laser tag before they go over his Math homework and Cat, surprisingly, doesn’t even look annoyed that Kara has overstayed her welcome (again) when Carter falls asleep on her shoulder on the familyroom couch, ambling in from another late-night hours later.

Cat (probably) isn’t annoyed for the sole reason that Kara immediately holds up a cup of (miraculously warmed) coffee, dark eyes slitting as Cat looks between the pair and Kara just smiles as innocently as she can.

\--

**Rule #19. Do not accidentally kill Carter. Do not let Carter get injured. Do not let Carter get kidnapped. Do everything possible to keep Carter still, alive, and not running around on busses. Or trains. **or near Maxwell Lord****

\--

Her world slowly expands further and further into Cat Grant’s, even when a superhero (that doesn't feel Super) is always ready to burst from her chest, catapulting into the sky. Kara sends letters to far-off family members and feels the world change underneath her fingertips.

She changes Cat Grant’s life as Kara Danvers, not Supergirl. The writer--the meticulous list-maker--not the superhero, and it has just as many repercussions.

Adam tastes the faintest way Cat smells after a shower and it churns Kara's stomach until she looks to the stars and remembers that she's here to be extraordinarily ordinary. Remembered in newslines and protection, not in the way Adam's eyes crinkle at the edges. 

After that, it's difficult to watch the way Cat's knuckles clench so white around a coffee cup, dumping it in a trashcan on her way past Kara's desk. 

Kara doesn’t know what to do with Saturdays where she isn’t tutoring Carter.

Even worse, doesn’t know where to look in the office if she can’t look at Cat Grant.

\--

 **Rule #20. The next twelve rules are in accordance with attached documents (see section 4.D - 12A). Reference documents for all necessary procedures to keep CatCo from setting on fire when Crashing a cover. (** **_Really strong breath will not put these metaphorical fires out. Or literal fires. Do not let Becky from accounting near the Coffeemaker when stressed. There will be fires. Actual big ones.)_ ** **. These rules are how Cat Grant’s assistant keeps CatCo running as smoothly as possible.**

**\--**

Eventually she learns how to let the list unfold in a series of mistakes and hopeful breaths, not pre-emptive strikes. The anger and hatred--the betrayal and misunderstanding--are things Kara knows how to deal with…

Everything else? Not as much.

Everything-- _everything_ \-- changes with a little ball of red light.

\--

**Rule #33. Never, under any circumstances, ride Cat Grant’s elevator.**

A simple rule becomes a curse. A flash of red turns blood into fire and a tongue into a sword, chest burning with hatred and eyes brimming with things most of her lists were intentionally designed to prevent. An addendum to simplicity finds regret:

 ** _ADDENDUM_** : **Never, under any circumstances, allow yourself to ride Cat Grant’s elevator, again.**

**\--**

Heels click along carpet, sinking into plush, until a form-fitting dress slides dangerously close to a dark blazer.

“Oh, Catherine.” A faint laugh trickles out of Kara’s lips and curls around her heart--squeezing like an anaconda that just won’t let up--a foreign sound. Something that she’s sure Cat will recognize for what it is--something _other_ than her usually smiling and accommodating assistant--and it’s impossible to fight through the haze around edges. All Kara sees is red. The red of Cat’s dress and the red of her cheeks--the red of the corner of her lips. Eyes are unfocused on the image of the red of a tongue, fingers curling at the want of it, strong in a laughing chest. The red at the corner of eyes, highlighting the dilation of two very familiar pupils. For the first time in a week, it’s not the Kryptonite--it’s _Cat_ that’s red. All red.  “You still think I’m avoiding you because of your son? Maybe you are avoiding me. But...”

Kara’s fingers skim along a shoulder and she feels Cat stiffen--can see the goosebumps rise up on the edge of light skin--can hear the gasp of breath with attentive ears. Can see the hair stand up on the edge of her neck and perfectly-manicured nails curl into palms, tight around the twirling stalk of an expensive champagne flute. Kara's hand settles on a hip, turning her boss around with far too much familiarity, blue eyes dark and rimmed with something far too dangerous to let go of. Like a static charge is building up behind eyes, red and light barely held at bay to keep from setting the world on fire.

Kara seemingly settles for letting her fingers cause the fire instead, humming a light, breathless tune while a hand unassumingly dances up clenching muscles to a wine glass, gently plucking it from a writer’s hand and setting it on the mantel behind them, pinning Cat there along with it. She doesn’t touch her--doesn’t have to--and it’s power to feel the way the world’s most powerful woman shifts underneath an immovable smirk.  

“If I was going after anyone with _your_ gene pool, why would I settle for someone I didn’t want?” It’s a light question posed by an ear, voice rough and amused, like both of them knew this, already. Kara Danvers certainly knew this, but would never say this, and somewhere deep in a frothing cloud, the same girl desperately tries to push through the haze of emotion curling up lips. “You’re always telling me to aim high. Adam’s cute, but my pure,” The self-deprecation is thick--taunting--like a bully tugging up a small, wounded child by their pinky before tossing the rag doll aside, “Little,” The hand skims back down a waist, curling fingers around a hip, once more, “Weak heart just wasn’t in it. Why fuck _him_ ,” The word is foreign--out of place--on a tongue, cracking the air light electricity in a vacuum, an unstoppable force of nature existing somewhere it's defying the laws of the world to exist. Cat’s breath quivers against Kara’s lips and she can taste her, even with the distance between them. The faintest hint of bourbon and lipstick curls up around the back of Kara’s throat and even now--even like this--she’s intoxicated by it. “Just because I couldn’t have you?”

It feels like tossing her off of a building, only to swoop arms around her at the last second.

The power of life and death beneath nails.

Their bodies mold far too perfectly against each other as Kara presses her tighter against the wall and there’s something small and weak so desperately fighting against the pounding beat of a heart against a ribcage. The faintest hint of a woman she no longer is trying to fight against desire has no chance of winning a war.

But it's a valiant fight.

“I think you should go, Kara.” But it’s breathless--faint. Weak. It's the first time Cat ever says her real name and Kara will loathe the fact that she says it like this. 

Their lips are close--so close--but a flash of outrage and betrayal in blue causes Kara to stumble backwards, breaking from the grace and elegance that’s straightened a frame all week. Cat must notice and like a slow slivering crack through glass, it spreads, some form of strength tightening the bones in an executive’s back until she’s towering over Kara in her heels. Funnily enough, given Kara’s significantly taller. The assistant simply straightens her glasses, letting out a slow, silky laugh that only causes Cat’s eyes to search for answers that won't come.

Kara doesn’t straighten the glasses in nerves--she straightens them like she’s readying a gun at her hip.

“What happened to you?” It’s even fainter, but there’s a strength to Cat’s voice--there always is--a hand raising up to gently skim along a jaw. It’s the first time Cat’s ever truly touched her and Kara pulls away further, straightening her dress with a hum, turning around on her heel.

The strangling feeling in her chest is suffocating.

“I woke up, Ms. Grant.” She tosses casually over her shoulder, voice sing-song and hollow: “Have a nice night.” Winking at the edge of a familiar passage that’s closing all around her, nails skimming along wood like they’re trailing down a spine, “I'm off to meet James. I know  _I_  will.”

The door closes with a click but it’s not much of a hide-away for a fortress made of glass and Kara’s smirk only spreads when she catches the sight of Cat Grant sagging against her office wall.

But blue eyes flicker with something other than red, gaze trembling at the edges before it seals itself behind cement and resolution.

\--

 ****Personal rule:** **NEVER** **allow yourself near Cat Grant when underneath the effect of any form of mind-altering Kryptonite. Keep her safe and far away from whatever...that was. You were. (Will I ever fix this?).****

“I...Ms. Grant.” Kara stumbles over words, images burned into her mind with the fire of the sun--and she knows firsthand just how hot _that_ can be--swallow barely a rasp. It’s been the first time she’s managed to get Cat alone all week without her boss snapping at her, and it feels like rubble between her fingers. Lost. Kara’s spine feels like it’s floating from her body, bones collapsing beneath the weight of her own trembling voice, and she wishes she’d tried writing what she was going to say--do--explain--before she’d come in here.

“Kara, unless pictures of Superman with his lover are on the floor, there’s no reason why you should be staring at it like that.” Kara’s nose screws up at the mental image with a faint-- _oh, eww_ \--lips parting and closing before they part, again. “My eyes are up here.”

Fingers wring and lips part again before she faithfully looks up, not doing a good job of standing tall or being professional, two things she had sworn she would be this morning. Before her body had collapsed into her chair like a bag of marbles, anyways, scattered all over the place. Like the pieces of her life. “I’m sorry, Ms. Grant.” A cleared throat--fingers fussing at the tight neckline of a button-up before moving up to glasses that aren’t askew until she tries to right them, and then fusses with them again to fix the damage she's done--tongue darting out over lips.

She tries to speak, again, when no words come out, Cat Grant unfortunately giving her every single ounce of her attention. It heats her skin far more than a radioactive explosion ever might.

Which she would know. She’s been in a _lot_ of radioactive explosions.

Suns and explosions. A lot of those, this year.

Worse. This is worse. 

“Are you going to talk, or just stare at me with that Bambi caught in the headlights--”

“I’m sorry.” It tumbles out of Kara’s mouth, entirely sincere and pleading, trying not to stumble as she rushes forward. “I’ve been trying to think of how I was going to say this all week and I want you to know that our relationship--I mean our professional, working relationship. No other relationship. Obviously no other relationship. We don't have any other rel--well, maybe almost friendship, not that I think you think I’m a friend or anything--I--” Cat’s gaze is only hardening with each and every word--Kara can tell from the faintest twitch at the edge of eyes--and Kara takes a much needed breath, “Working here means the world to me. It means more than you would ever know and if I did anything to jeopardize that, I would never forg--”

“Of course coming into your boss’ office--the CEO and founder of the very awe-inspiring building that you are standing in right now--and suggesting that you would much rather _fuck_ ,” She uses the word like it’s a lie within and of itself and Kara knows Cat couldn’t possibly miss the way she recoils from it, wincing as she shrinks into herself, “That very woman rather than her estranged son who _you_ had a very big, ungraceful hand in orchestrating arrangements to meet with would put an endlessly interesting spin on any working relationship, or lack thereof, wouldn’t you think?”

“Cat, I--” Kara rasps, placing the papers she’d barged into the office holding down on a familiar table, “I wasn’t myself. I can’t explain why. I _really_ do not have excuses, right now. I never will. None that I can tell you.” That’s the most honest she can be and Cat’s chin quirks at it like a hound sniffing blood in the air, “All I have is my sincerest apologies and promise that it will never, ever happen again.”  

“It’s funny,” Cat continues like she hasn’t even heard her, “I hardly blame you for finding me attractive. I mean, _please_ , Kiera, you’re not the first assistant--”

“Ms. Grant,” Kara desperately (stupidly) tries to intervene, stepping forward, cut down with one look.

“I gave you a pass the first time when you barged in here, intent on talking. Do _not_ interrupt me again.” The tone brokers no sense of argument and a dusty swallow is the only response, heels clicking across familiar floors like a well-dressed shark treading through deep seas. Smaller than her own, the shadow Cat Grant casts threatens to swallow Kara whole. “Out of all of the idiotic ploys and even more idiotic things you’ve _said_ over the almost two years you’ve been employed here, you’re still standing here because, God help me, I have faith in you. While you’re often too naive for your own good and dress like a back-page advertisement for _Forever 21_ , there’s been more than one occasion that I have stood behind you because you’ve showed prowess and wit behind that...endless amount of cloying sunshine that usually comes out of your mouth.” Cat is in front of her, now, tone casual and measured--always measured--and Kara’s chin trembles, shoulders rolling in to try to protect the whimpering rhythm against her chest. “Of course there were times I wished you would just pep up the step and stop hiding behind fumbling pauses and your ‘girl next door’ thing,” A waving hand of gesture, “That you’ve used to charm everyone in this building, including my sons, because you have a habit of not saying what you’re thinking. An annoying one.”

A mouth parts to protest before Kara realizes she’s been warned about this, mouth snapping shut underneath a cold, steel gaze.

“So imagine my surprise when you were uncharacteristically vocal about the one most horrendously inappropriate and wrong thing to be vocal about. Admitting you have a shameless little crush on me, however inappropriate, is understandable. Admitting you toyed with my poor son’s heart out of some kind of misguided notion with the intent to rip out a relationship from underneath him--playing with his heart--is both surprising and indicative of your true character.” Cat’s chin barely trembles--Kara sees it. Sees hair stick up on the edge of wrists like they did the other night. Sees the way eyes barely dilate, but this time in dangerous reaction--the way a gun’s trigger clicks before it fires, or a snake barely tips its skull back before firing forward. It’s dangerous and Kara feels it down to her stomach--to curling fingers and locking knees. “However personal, that conduct-- _your conduct--_ in my office the other night is immediate grounds for dismissal.” Cat spits and Kara closes her eyes, surprising her: “Give me one reason not to fire you. A good one. Now.”  

“Because it was true.” The words tumble out of Kara’s mouth before she can stop herself, hand slapping over a gaping mouth to stem any more from slipping out, like she can still feel tendrils of red curling over the thin fibers of her throat. Both Kara and Cat look utterly surprised at it and Kara tries her best to stand as tall as she can. “However...unprofessionally I represented myself, what I said was true.” Quieter--honest, “Everything I said that whole week was true, in some small way, however much I hate myself for it. However much everyone tells me it wasn’t my fault, there was some truth to it.” A breath and, before long, she stands taller than she should be allowed, finding solace in the posture of a world that crumbled underneath her fingertips, like there’s a house that strengthens her shoulders. Like she still belongs to a house. At least she can tell the truth, now. At least she can tell the truth about  _this_ , anyways.

“Then--”

Despite the earlier warning, Kara interrupts Cat before she can fire her, stepping forward, hand gently wrapping around a wrist before it drops like she even knows what being burnt feels like, hand swaying uselessly by a side like the arm of a clock ticking between them. “No. I dated Adam because he was...he was cute. And charming. He was funny and for a minute I felt like he was normal. Like I was normal, for the first time in my life, with a boy that just...liked me for me. I had this chance to bring a family back together and it was--I’m so glad I did. I’ll never have any ounce of regret sending that letter, Ms. Grant, because everyone should know their parents. Everyone should have that connection while they still can.” The stance seems a little more natural, brows furrowing behind black frames, “But the truth is...I broke up with him because there wasn’t--isn’t--there will _never_ be a place in my life for something serious. It’s just...it’s not for someone like...me.” The words strangle in her throat, far more truth in the things she _doesn’t_ say and the fear clogs her throat at the idea of Cat being able to hear them.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Cat’s voice is still harsh but her eyes are barely softer around the edges, an assistant stepping forward, still, tone desperate for a hint to find some familiar ground in a city that’s come to loathe her heart for the truth that hides behind it. “That’s what you came up with?”

“I want to be good.” A swallow, brain reminding herself of _Rule #1_ out of habit, dangerous familiarity on her tongue. “But that’s not all of me, Cat. There’s this...this part of me that I hate that...that happened when my parents died.” Rephrasing, “That...was created when they died. When everyone I knew--” A breath, “When I lost them. This part of me that’s lost and scared and...and _hates_. It hates so much.” The words are thick and quiet--trembling--and Kara can’t look at her when she says it. “And I guess that part of me really showed itself last week and it’s something that I’ll...never be able to take back. That I’ll have to live with and I’m okay with that. I understand that. I can live with the consequences of my actions.” She can hear the way Cat’s breath changes--can hear the way she shifts on her heels, fabric scratching and bangles dancing a symphony of bells as they clatter together, arms crossing. “But there was truth in it. I could have dated Adam, but he deserves so much more than me. I could never give him...all of me. The good and the bad. Not when my duty lies with this...with the city. With here.” Trying to clarify in a way that isn’t as heavy as the weight on her shoulders, “With...this job.”

“With being an assistant.” Cat drawls but there’s none of the usual skepticism in her voice and when Kara looks back up to meet her gaze, there’s something foreign there--some kind of quiet understanding.

It feels as heavy as the wind pushing against her shoulders when she flies, a sense of burden in liberation.

“With this city.” Is all Kara repeats, chin tipping up to meet Cat’s in challenge. “I’ll never be able to have a serious relationship even though it’s something I...I really want. It’s just not in the cards for me. And that’s something Adam deserves. It’s something I know he wants and it wasn’t fair to him. For me to lead him on. So, yes, I ended it before either of us wound up hurt. And...the part about you…”

“Of wanting to fuck me.” Both of Cat’s eyebrows raise and Kara suddenly feels breathless--claustrophobic--like the walls are closing in on her and tries to push the panic out from her chest. Tries to keep Cat from seeing it in her last defense left.

“Right. That.” Another swallow and Kara sucks in a long, thin breath, feeling bolder than she ever should because it’s not like she has anything to lose, already on the edge of jumping off a building without being sure she’ll be able to fly, “Is it...so bad if that’s true, too?”

There’s a long moment of silence, Cat’s eyes dark when she answers:

“Now isn’t the time to ask me questions you aren’t prepared to hear the answers to, Kara.”  

The use of her proper name doesn’t help the dangerous, syncopated rhythm of her heart, and there must still be some red kryptonite in her lungs, turning the whole world red, because Kara steps forward, still. Her breath is quaking and honest but her shoulders and eyes are resolute--set. Regardless of the verbage, it’s not a concept Kara thinks _should_ be lied about. It’s not how she was raised, lightyears away and honesty ingrained like lines on her tongue.

In this moment, fatigue is her downfall--she’s tired--exhausted--of lying to Cat Grant. Especially about something she can't change, and wouldn't if she could.

“Okay,” Kara acquiesces, nodding. It’s not the time for uncertainty: “Then there isn’t a question, I’m…” She can see Cat’s fingers curl tighter into her arms--can hear it--even though her face doesn’t ease, “ _Very_ attracted to you, Cat. But that has not, nor will it ever, get in the way of my professional or personal feelings towards you. You’re my mentor and--though I’m sure I’m just as likely to get fired for admitting it-- _friend_ , and I would never let anything like that come between us or...get in the way of my career.” A breath, “I’m sorry if the way I...displayed that attraction was...well, you know.” There’s no other word for it. “...Creepy. And very, very forward.” Fingers fidget with glasses once more, the faintest crinkle settling between brows, “But I would never act on that...attraction,” The word is drawled out in a way she can’t help, “Besides, I’m all about consent. And I don't do casual...Uh," A swallow, waving a hand in gesture, "And I obviously am not doing long-term relationships. Not that I'm suggesting that. But attraction doesn't mean either of those things--it doesn't change anything." She argues, "So I’m sorry. I’m so sorry if you look at me differently, now, or don’t trust me, but I couldn’t let you fire me without knowing the truth. Or thinking that I intentionally would ever manipulate or abuse your, or either of your son’s, trust. I’m...” A breath, eyes closing for a moment, glad for glasses that block the world from her view, “I’m just sorry.”

When she's ready to open her eyes, Cat's there to greet her. 

Cat’s eyes search her face--search the set of her jaw--and most surprisingly, a small nod follows, leaning back into her desk as she looks Kara up and down like an article she hasn’t quite finished editing, yet. “Good.” Is what the woman settles on, enigmatic and powerful, and Kara lets out a slow breath. “But you can stop worrying about whether or not I trust you. That’s not your job.” It’s even more enigmatic, settling further in a gut like lead words she couldn’t see through and ate, instead. It twists in her chest like a green rock, curling vines of poison around her lungs. There’s a long pause and a singular, second nod that punctuates that seemingly endless silence, “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

“Does that mean I’m not fired?” It’s not the time for relief--the first thing that’s gone right in her life all week--and while it’s probably the stupidest thing she could’ve ever asked her boss, she’s even more relieved to see the faintest tick upwards on the corner of Cat’s mouth. A smile.

A smile Kara’s missed more than she's likely to admit.  

“Not today.” Cat supplies, turning back around, plucking up glasses from her desk and setting them on the bridge of her nose, a dismissal if there ever was one. “Oh, and Kara?”

The second use of her name wraps red along the green grasping hold of her, making a Christmas Tree out of her veins.

Kara stops at the door, turning around, clutching papers to her chest like a lifeline, “Yes, Ms. Grant?”

“If you ever decide to mess with any of my family’s hearts again without taking in the full ramifications of your actions,” Her voice is even--deathly--and Kara’s heart picks up tempo at the sight of ice over the rim of glasses when their gazes meet, “Professionalism aside, you could be Supergirl, herself, and I would still find a way to kill you.”

Knowing Cat Grant, she would. It's enough of a promise that Kara knows better than to add it to the rules--it's just  _fact._

“Yes, Ms. Grant.” Kara nods and swallows, trying to get out of the office as fast as she can without creating a sonic boom. "Thank you."

It’s not until much later, fingers curling around the frayed fabric of a blanket, emptiness swallowing her apartment, does Kara scan the lines of the stars out of her window and wonder if Cat was just talking about two boys with similar smiles, or if she was talking about the way hair stood up on both ends of an arm--of a neck--when the devil’s breath trailed down Cat Grant’s spine.

She wonders if Cat Grant would have thrust her hand into an arched chest and wrapped fingers around a desperately red heart if even the worst version of Kara Danvers had enough courage to kiss her.


	2. (Not) A Very Superfluous Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just…” Eyes close and her skin practically vibrates when Cat steps closer. “Felt like there was more I could do.” Is what Kara settles on, focusing on the way the sun glistens off of the windows as it disappears behind the horizon instead of the way the glass reflects something dark in Cat’s eyes. Something Kara can relate to.
> 
> It doesn’t take xray vision to see underneath the makeup flawlessly covering dark circles underneath Cat’s eyes--Kara’s spent two years helping her boss check it with no mirrors available--and when she turns around, her fingers itch to gently brush along the line of it, taking cream away with them. Cat still isn't sleeping.
> 
> Survivor’s guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honored for all of the support I've gotten for this fic! I was going to roll this out next week, but decided to hit it a little early just because it was finished and, well...why not? I've never reached over a hundred kudos in a few days--I don't know if it's the awesome fandom or what, but thank you all so much for the support! I genuinely appreciate it. 
> 
> Please feel free to let me know any critiques/comments! This will likely be a longer chapter than the ones that follow but, well...we'll see. Who knows how far the rabbit hole goes? 
> 
> Also, as is tradition, at the ending of this fic will be any translation for Kryptonian I use.

**Rule #34. A lesson from Cat Grant: Never let attraction stand in the way of your career. And never let someone’s attraction to you be the reason for it.**

“Kiera!” It’s supposed to be shrill, cutting through the office, but by the time it reaches the short distance to Kara’s ears across an empty mausoleum of CatCo desks, it sounds exhausted and frustrated. An assistant appears at the hark call a moment later, practically materializing in front of a bent Cat Grant who's hunched over a desk made of cascading paper, watching fingers press at the gates of temples to keep a migraine at bay. “I’m firing Liam at exactly 9:07 tomorrow morning.”

Kara stretches out a handful of aspirin, lips parting--

“No, I’m firing him.” Cat raises up both hands, a huff expelling from flaring nostrils, “I do not _care_ if he’s an intern and unpaid, this level of gross idiocy is something I expect to come from the writing staff of _Huffington Post_. Do Millenials just not check their sources, or is it some kind of mental blight passed down from my drug-induced generation?”

It takes a couple of seconds of silence before Kara blinks, “Oh, that’s...an actual question. That you’re asking me. I...” She fiddles with her glasses, “I don’t think it’s generational, Ms. Grant. I think he just…”

“Was reckless.” Cat supplies. “Idiotic? Desperate to see his name on a bi-line?” Kara looks a little guilty at the fact that she nods, at all, answering the question regardless of the clench of her chest. “I understand that thirst, but there’s no place for him here. Which is why,” Fingers take the medicine with a pleased hum, knocking them back like shots, “I’m firing him. Unfortunately for you, you’re going to be stuck digging through those books to cite his sources for him.”

“Oh, I’m already finished.” Kara moves over to her desk, picking up the carefully-cited notes below her, coming forward to gingerly set it on an endless white plane with a nervous smile, “I made sure to properly cite them, as well, and took the liberty of editing the article to reflect them prior to publication. Since I was...already there. In the article.”

Skeptical eyes greet her, sliding on a pair of glasses to look down at the pages of notes, a blank page falling down with them. There's no ink, but indentations might be visible underneath city lights. Kara’s wince must be noticeable because Cat suddenly looks far more interested in the small tree-sliver of white--eyes flicking between both subjects before settling--turning it in her hands.

“That’s just...a page to test my pen.”

A thoughtful hum, handing it back up as she continues reading. “Well let’s not single-handedly destroy the rainforests. That’s capitalism’s job. Keep it to one page. You did all of this? In an hour.”

“I’m…” Kara shifts, “A fast reader.” That’s certainly true, but ever since Non’s release she’s been anxious to stay at CatCo for too long, the fear of her uncle a constant presence in the back of her mind. Of Non finding her friends--of finding Cat. The building is nearly abandoned, now--it usually is by the time Cat leaves--but she still can’t help the uneasiness at the back of her throat. She still hovers close--she’s been flying between Winn and James and Cat like some sort of stuck, stalker-ish circus every night--but she shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not this late.

“A fast reader.” It’s a trademarked drawl--Cat has actually patented its execution, Kara knows because she had to figure out how to file _that_ in their filing cabinet--skeptical and unmoving, dark eyes following fidgeting movements over the rim of glasses and Kara clears her throat. Again.

“I just...I love reading. Love it.” And it’s not a lie.

If there was one place to understand Earth’s (occasionally very-strange customs) it was the media. Movies. Shows. Scripted events of superfluous fantasy that categorized humanity’s desire with flash, razzmatazz, and a whole lot of explosions. But books were Kara’s favorite form of expedition into the eyes of humanity. “I would spend day after day propped up on my foster parent’s roof, reading. So...this was nothing.”

“All day? You didn’t go to school?” It’s a sarcastic question, but one Kara doesn’t catch until she’s already answered:

“Well, I didn’t...for a while. When I first came to th...eir house. There was a difficulty locating my papers from the...fire. I guess.” Kara shakes her head. It had taken Jeremiah a month to forge the necessary documents to keep her in the U.S and she had spent all of that time learning as much as she could to fit in. “I was too young to wrap my head around everything. Jeremiah--my foster father--he...let me read as long as I wanted. He would read with me, sometimes.” Books from cover to cover during the days--strange television shows about love and murder and mayhem in the evenings, and huddling underneath a blanket with a flashlight with Alex at night, practicing her English. Being able to read as fast as she could helped her make short work of Jeremiah’s study and, eventually, they had to get her a library card.

Learning how to read that fast without setting the pages on fire was her biggest challenge.

She read the entire library in two months. The two hundred and fifty-two pages Cat had left to her discretion didn’t take much time, at all. Normally, she has a rule about relying on her powers at work--a personal one--but these days….

A humming form leans back in an acquiescing chair. Cat's chair doesn't creak--it bends to her every will like a servant to a queen. “Interesting.” What’s surprising is that she says it in a way that _isn’t_ sarcastic, fingers tapping at a pen. There’s nothing Cat Grant can’t do gracefully, and that apparently includes bending underneath her desk and tugging up a banker’s box full to the brim of paperwork, dropping the contents uneventfully on her desk, slinking back over to the drink counter a moment later. The long drink of water to swallow down dissolving pills doesn’t hide a smirk that Kara doesn’t need x-ray vision to see.

“And…” A sigh that she tries not to let reach her features, dutifully uncapping the top of the box when realization sets in, “Means more work for me, doesn’t it?”

“Bingo.” Ice cubes clink into the glass and Cat’s eyes are far too bright to not be enjoying this, leaning back against the bar as she watches her assistant move, “You can work right there. I’ll need to supervise you for...legal reasons.”

“Legal reasons?” Kara picks up a picture of a crime scene, eyebrows quirking. It should be something that makes someone squint or pull back, but her features just crumble in silent resolution--someone in this city she hadn’t saved--realizing which case this is from, two years ago, without vocalizing it. “I...really don’t want to know, do I?” Cat’s smile tempers itself into something curious and quiet.

“Nothing so dangerous that will have that FBI--isn't it? She wears so much black it _must_ be FBI--sister of yours banging down the door. Just files that Livewire’s last...visit fried on our second server. These need to be categorized, read, and cross-checked for accuracy. This won’t be the first time one of the interns other than Liam tried to sneak something invalid through our system, and we need to safeguard any sources we have on file to keep our practices as reputable as possible.” Cat steps forward, gingerly taking the crime scene photo from Kara’s hands and setting it on the desk, “Go ahead. Chop-chop.”

Kara sighs, fingers curling around the box, lips parting, tired gears scraping metal against metal as she tries to think of anything--

“Unless there’s somewhere else you need to be?” The tone is sing-song at the ends--almost a challenge--and Kara squares her shoulders, closing her mouth.

“No, Ms. Grant.”

Unfortunately for the both of them, it’s a little hard to clandestinely speed-read in front of ever-knowing eyes and this stack takes significantly less time, though Cat does pat her shoulder in something close to praise when she finishes. But it’s the words that follow after--

_Good job. Go home._

\--that make Kara blink. And blink. And blink some more until the silence seems to make Cat’s fingers itch, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, please, _Kiera_ let’s not do the whole...girl-talk thing. Yes, I complimented you, it’s something adults do when they’re impressed with another’s work. Please by no means let it stop you from actually being productive. If your head gets any bigger it might float out of the window on its own like that house in _Up_. It's just _admin work_ _._ ”

The remark does nothing to temper Kara’s spreading smile and Cat--who might actually seem _ruffled_ \--waves recently closed glasses in gesture as she stands, frames slim. “Thank you, Ms. Grant.”

“No, thank _you_. I’m aware it’s nearly midnight.” A sigh, “The news never sleeps. Something I can only hope Carter understands, someday without that contemptuous little loathing heart we all seem to develop for our parents, eventually.” The reflection--almost admittance--seems to make the mother quieter as she gathers her things and Kara dutifully grabs an elegant coat at the other end of the office when Cat says something else altogether, voice barely a dance above the hum of the desk-light still humming on the corner of finished papers. “Sentimental outbreaks are like liquorice; when first you suck it, it’s not bad, but afterwards it leaves a very _nasty_ taste in the mouth.” Quieter, almost grumbling as she drones, “And I am a _very_ superfluous man.”

“You’re nothing like Ivan Turgenev.” Kara argues, far louder as she crosses the office to offer the open arms of a jacket, smile kind and still far too wide. The glasses unfold in Cat’s palm once more and she watches them slide onto the bridge of a nose like Alex slides on Kryptonite armor, lately, fingers tenting on a lap as her boss once more sits in her chair, not taking the offered coat. Cat Grant searches her face for an answer Kara bows her head to give it, “Or the...Superfluous man. The quote you just said.”

It’s deja vu from hours ago as Cat leans further back in her chair, fingers skimming along the curved edge of her chair like she’s trying to find the last three words, jumbled and lost, for a word puzzle. It isn’t until Kara realizes that Cat had barely whispered the earlier sentence--barely broken the air with her tongue and breath--that she understands that Kara isn’t a lost, jumbled word puzzle, but an _enigmatic_ one for her employer. Like a word on the edge of a tongue that no one can ever seem to recall when they need it and Kara clears her throat, mentally willing her heart to slow its rapid gallop, eyes flicking downwards to make sure a crest isn’t visible in the dim light of the office.

A breath when she realizes it isn’t. This is just her, here, right now. No Supergirl.  

“As a man is living he is not conscious of his own life; it becomes audible to him, like a sound, after the lapse of time.” Kara quotes, nervously watching the way Cat’s eyes barely widen, shrugging her shoulders, gently admitting, not running from the caught action: “I told you, I loved reading. That might be all of us. But I...don’t think _you’re_ the superfluous man. I mean, _‘That’s what children are for?’_ ” She asks, quoting, familiarity curving her smile: “ _‘That their parents may not be bored_?’ Come on, Cat. Not you. You’re _not_ the superfluous man.” Another moment, nose wrinkling as she adds, a faint hint of distaste curling on her tongue: “Your mother might be.”

She has never heard Cat Grant--eyes widening in a hint of surprise that her assistant probably said something negative about anyone at all--laugh so hard, the noise warm as it bounces off of white walls.

Kara vows to make it happen more often, fingers warm as the woman finally stands, hands brushing shoulders as a coat finds its way home. Alien fingers fold a wrinkled page of white as she follows the click of heels like one might follow the stars to Rao, guidance needed when everything else in her life, right now, feels uncertain.

“Goodnight, Kara.” Cat murmurs, wind brushing through her hair, eyes flicking downwards as fingers slide a white page in a pocket. “I’m sure I’ll see you in the morning.” A car she’d called before they went down the elevator pulls up like well-paid clockwork and when Cat turns around Kara makes sure all that’s there to greet dark eyes will be an empty street, gone before Kara can even hope she’ll offer.

(Offer _what_...that’s just another question she’s not sure she has time to answer.)

The confident form of blue and red hovers out of sight until the car makes its way home--it’s been the town home since livewire, a little further outside of city’s limits--skin crawling at the expectation of her uncle’s eyes on the horizon. She watches Cat stoop down outside of her door, plucking up a package before she makes her way inside.

In the dim light of the city Supergirl sets down on a rooftop miles away from the woman that named her, thumbs flipping through an old book as she watches the light for Carter’s room flicker on and, eventually, pitch black engulf it. A faint light from a bedside table lights up Cat’s form for only a few minutes, stilling by the window like she might catch sight of someone far away before she settles at bed, flipping through a book of her own.

Maybe it’s silly, sitting here amidst a sea of open windows and lights, reading through a book she’s read through hundreds of times with her sister over the years--though they don’t have a habit of reading to each other, the older they get, lost to time like most things between siblings--because even in the middle of a city she’s sworn to save when the time comes...she feels like she’s running out of people to protect.

Cat falls asleep like that, book draped open on her lap half of a city away, and Kara settles down, for a minute, chin tipping backwards to trace constellations with her thumbs. To find the way home. Her sister is lifetimes away and blue eyes scan the sky--is Astra’s journey gentle? Quiet amidst the rocky ocean of stars above?--and she’ll only stay here for a little longer before she checks on her friends, as well.

Lucy will be her last stop at the DEO, inevitably handing her a cup of coffee with sunken eyes like coffee has an effect on either one of them.

It’s not until she’s certain that Non won’t find a knife to her heart here that Kara Zor-El stands, moon highlighting the lines of a symbol on her chest. Maybe she can’t protect her family--Alex; Jeremiah; Astra--

“Goodnight, Ms. Grant.”

But this city? She’ll protect them all, her cursed family be damned.

**Rule #35. Keep all documentation of CatCo’s files on a third separate server. (If any issues, have Winn work his magic).**

**\--**

She doesn’t protect them all.

She loses another one and keeps a picture tucked in her chest like she keeps of all the others in her mind--a dying father stretching a trembling hand up to a powerless woman for help to stop the bleeding; a flash of green highlighting the face of her mother and aunt; a dying planet; all of the people that _bizarro_ watched fall around them like _ash_.

Ethan Knox.

But this is an actual picture, crumpled at the edges, arm slung around a smiling, alive, _happy_ young girl with the world in front of her. She keeps a picture of Kelly in the edge of her suit because this isn’t a shortcoming or a lost soul. This is a choice Kara’s made, selfish and true, two people saved for the price of one, a Kryptonian playing God like only shadows can when Light is supposed to guide them.

She doesn't feel light, anymore.

She watches Kelly fall on repeat everytime she closes her eyes and knows she’ll get less sleep the more her life goes on, conscience weighing down her shoulders far more than a crest ever could. The city is saved by _hope--_ Cat Grant believes in her as firmly as Alex and Eliza do--but Kara finds herself lost without it as she sits on the edge of CatCo, watching the people slowly mull about the city like how Rao must watch the stars. She imagines what Kal-El might say if he was here, firm jaw and kind eyes. Like his father's. 

" _It doesn't get easier_." She imagines, every bit the boy she didn't abandon and the man he became--imagines she squeezes his shoulder, proud and admiring, blue grateful despite the redness of her nose and the water lining the edges of her eyes. " _It's important to remember the people we save, too. They're both choices, Kara."_

“Choices we have to live with.” Her breath quakes against the silent air, no one there to meet her. She'd like to tell him how she thought all of this would be different--how she might be different. 

" _You saved me."_ He'd point out, if he was here.

But he's not. She's alone, here, and she hasn't fully saved him, yet, feet hanging over the edge of the roof she's come to call home. What would Cat say? Probably something just as inspirational, eyes unmoving and voice lilting at the edges: 

"You'll save everyone you can, as long as you don't forget." Kara tries, but it falls a little hollow--a little flat--fingers tugging her cape into her lap like a pillow, thumbs brushing along the line of it until she finally decides it's time to comfort the real source of the voice that never quite leaves her spine. She descends the rest of the small way from the roof to a familiar balcony, touching down to see a huddled form on a couch. Kara never said goodbye, tonight, but she’s sure that’s the last thing on Cat’s mind when they're both left with a desk that will never be full, again.

Sometimes Cat will fall asleep in this very spot and Kara will gently tuck a blanket on her shoulders and habit must push her steps, because cool fingers that haven't felt cold for years are pulling up a blanket before she can think better of it, watching the way the city dances shadows along familiar cheeks.

Tear tracks Cat will never confide in her are clear, fingers curled around a picture of her own, but this picture isn't of Kelly--it's of Carter, hair mussed and smile bright in his school uniform. It's in moments like this that she's reminded that the tears that clog her own throat aren't nearly as important as the people she leaves behind.

Kara kneels, fingers gently curving Cat’s hand closed before the picture can fall to the ground, the sleeping form shifting--grumbling--lost and disoriented, for a moment--

“Kara…?” Dark eyes blink again, adjusting to the dark of the office to see what might be another face in front of her, tired and solemn--sympathetic. Supergirl, who's saved a city, tonight, but still feels the weight of the world in dirt underneath her fingertips.

“I’m afraid not, Ms. Grant.” She whispers, effortlessly tucking the sagging form up in her arms, lifting her.

“Oh. You.” But Cat doesn’t shift out of the firm embrace, arms wrapping around a neck, “Is there a reason you’re--are you kidnapping me?”

“I’m taking you home.” Kara moves out to the balcony, “It’s the least I can do, after what you did for me, tonight.”

Only one picture is tucked in her suit, not half of the city, and that’s why she tells herself that she’s here and not scouring every inch of the city for Non. Not because she’s scared--petrified--or lost, but because of the truth: she does owe Cat this. 

“The least you could do is give me your number.” Cat supplies underneath the high winds, breath warm against Kara’s ear. It’s the first warmth she’s felt as strongly as the sun in a long time and a quiet laugh breaks between them as she sets down her boss on a stoop she shouldn’t recognize, not as Supergirl.

“Not happening.” Kara tosses over her shoulder, ignoring the dark circles under both of their eyes as she stretches up her arms.

“Or how you knew I lived here!” Cat yells after her, weary body sagging despite appearances, but Kara doesn’t answer, heading back towards the DEO with a goal in mind.

**Rule #36. CatCo never sleeps. Neither does Cat Grant. (2 hours, she claims. Fly by and bring blankets for the days when she falls asleep on her couch).**

**\--**

**Rule #37. Do not let Cat Grant shut herself off from the world or her family. (** **_She’ll do it if she has the chance_ ** **)**

“Adam...called me, today.” Kara shifts the glasses on her nose,  “And if _you_ think it was awkward, trust me it was _way_ more awkward for me.”  Murmuring to herself: “By a _lizrhom_.” Like it usually has before they could ever talk like this, the sun has set and Kara’s breath is heavy in her chest. They’re still no close to locating Non--to locating this new...web-based threat--but she finds herself back here, jaw set and eyes concerned.

The dark circles haven’t left Cat’s eyes since _Myriad_ and Kara knows she’s lucky that it’s impossible for her to have them, because it’s with sympathy that she’s confronting an indomitable Cat Grant, at all. But the lack of circles hasn’t stopped Kara, either--she’s looked like a wreck all week, something Cat, with lingering, almost hesitant eyes like she might be contagious, has had no problem informing her time and time again--and now is no different.

“Kiera, if you don’t remember what happened _last_ time you took it upon yourself to waltz in here with liberties you shouldn't be taking regarding my son--”

“He’s worried about you.” Kara immediately interjects, fingers twining by her lap. “And...frankly, so…” She straightens her shoulders--chin tilting up to meet an even gaze. “Am I, Ms. Grant. And before you say it isn’t my place,” Kara raises both of her hands, rushing forward at the opportunity before her boss decides to toss her out of the office. Or out of the window. (Maybe she can fly, but she doesn’t _like_ being thrown off the top of buildings). “I spend a lot of my time watching you. It’s in my job description. Literally, on my job description in my employee handbook, one of the key duties was to--”

“I know what your job responsibilities are, Kiera. I wrote them. This does not fall in line with--”

With some form of deathwish--maybe Maxwell Lord is right--Kara cuts her off again, coming closer at the slit of eyes, “Don’t fire me, but I just...I’m just worried about you, okay? You haven’t been sleeping. Your makeup is...seriously flawless,” A hint of a laugh, “But I can tell you're not sleeping. And I just...I thought that maybe if I could help ease some of the workload on your desk, you could go home a little early and--”

“Excuse me?”

“Cat,” Kara breathes, coming closer, chest tightening in a warning she doesn’t head. They’re close--closer than she remembers being and she’s unsure how they got here, tongue darting over parched lips, “I know. How much this is affecting you and I’m just...please tell me if I’m over-stepping, but I just...want to be there for you.”

“Don’t.” Cat’s voice is harsh--warning--hand coming up between them, “Do _not_ start something like this out of desperation or misdirection, Kara.”

“What? I don’t--” Kara’s brows knit and it’s only then that she realizes how the distance she’s crossed between them could be perceived--how she can feel Cat’s breath against her chin and smell her perfume--and embarrassment covers the righteous indignation in her chest. “You thought I was--I wasn’t going to--” It’s sputtered because she can’t deny the urge. “I’m not _trying_ to--”  

Because Kara wants to kiss her. It’s a strangling, burning urge in her chest that curls her fingers and leaves her breathless, in moments like this. She wants to push her hands through Cat’s hair and tilt her chin and kiss her until neither of them can think anything, at all, anymore. For once, Kara wants to escape, to run, because she sees somewhere she wants to run to. She’s tired of the dark circles and the constant hunt and fear in her chest. She's tired, period.

She wants to help--she only _ever_ wants to _help--_

“Please, Kiera, I can see the look in your eye. I understand underhanded tactics and I’m learning to see them coming from you.” Cat’s hands are on her hips and the hurt stings--physically aches--blinking as she recoils. Blinks. Steps backwards with raised hands like she’s twelve and accidentally snapped the back of a kitten she tried to save, stranded, in a sewer, before she understood she didn’t belong here, at all.

Not without rules.

“You thought I was going to--” A breath, straightening, not bothering to hide the astonishment from her voice, “I would never…” But Cat’s eyes are level--even--and she understands in this moment that she’s ruined something between them, these past few months. Something that a couple of quotes from a book can’t fix. “Adam just asked me to talk to you because he thought you were pushing him away. He...he asked me as a friend. Cat, I’m not using your son to start an affair with you. And I-- _can’t_ believe I just had to actually say that out loud.” Her jaw barely trembles as it sets, “You really think I would--”

“No, it seems like you are.” Cat dismisses, eyes slitting, but there’s something there, in her gaze. Above the hidden dark circles and fire: “You were getting far too close for comfort, Kiera. We’re not friends, let alone lovers, and from this point forward, you’re going to keep your opinions about my family to yourself.”

Kara searches her eyes, “Of course we’re not...lovers.” That much is obvious. It’s stuttered and lost, “But I thought we were friends.” A little stronger, “We _are_ friends. And I would never take advantage of you like that.” Firmer, “I wasn’t going to kiss you. I--” Kara steps forward, trying to get through, a powerless hand stretching towards a gun, city in chaos all around them.

But Cat just fires, anyways.

“I think you should go.” She turns around--closes off--and Kara nods, face contorting as she turns on her heel.

She pauses by the door. “I just...I was just trying to make things right before I…”

She’s not one for being melodramatic or anything but optimistic so she sucks in a shuttering breath, smile slim, eyes settled on tight shoulders as Cat watches the screen, Supergirl flying above them.

“Not everything is your place to fix.” It’s a snap--exhausted and cool--and Kara sucks in a breath at it, blinking.

But Cat’s right. It’s not.

“I’m sorry for...overstepping, Ms. Grant. I hope…” Another breath, “Goodnight.” It's short work to turn on her heel, blinking back moisture as she forgoes the elevators, slamming open the stairwell and rushing upward.

She misses Cat standing, letting out a quiet curse before she slams an office drawer shut and follows after her.

Kara doesn’t even make it to the roof before it hits her, rushing into an office that used to hold private meetings and laughter, dust settling a fine layer over desks and Winn’s electronic gizmos and gadgets (and what’s’it’s galore, as Kara likes to sing everytime he talks about them).

“Hey, Kara? I thought I saw I you coming up here, I’m about to--” It’s Winn who finds her, palm flatting on a door that creeks open, face softening at the sight. A thumb is jerked mid-air, pausing mid-whistle when he finally sees her. A hand is clutching at her chest, desperately trying to push away the panic, fingers clenching so tightly around a picture it might disintegrate. “Woah...Kara.” His voice is barely a breath, arm hesitantly sliding around shoulders before he pulls her towards him and she has to resist the urge to crumple, fingers protective.  

It’s a broken sob--something that quivers and quakes in her throat and steals all of the air from her lungs--and she can’t hold it back, anymore.

“Hey--” Winn looks just as awkward as he always had, but he’s here--always here--arms immediately tugging her forward into a hug, the sob breaking against his neck as he holds her. A rule ingrained in the back of her mind keeps her from holding too tight--from tangling fingers in his skin and breaking him--and she misses the way Kal-El’s arms can wrap around her in moments like this, feeling young and small. Even without being able to truly hold her, she misses  _Alex_ , who always knows the perfect thing to say. Who doesn't make her feel guilty just from--  

“I don--” It’s a breath, barely English, “I don’t want you to feel guilty.” It’s a breath, but the weight of it is suffocating as she admits, because there’s no lying about it, now--not to Winn, “I couldn’t...I couldn’t talk to you and James, because--”

“Hey, Supergirl.” Winn whispers by her ear, hand smoothing down her back, “We’re your pit crew, remember? You have to let us take care of you sometimes, too. Because you didn’t want us to feel guilty? About...” He lets out an awkward breath, "About Kelly."

“I couldn’t save her.” It’s a gasp, fingers curling in his shirt tight enough it rips, but Winn doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t say anything at all. Just holds her even when she hears his heart beat skip--can hear his breath shallow--can hear the tears at the base of his throat because he must think it’s his fault, as well. “Kelly didn’t--she didn’t deserve--”

Survivor’s guilt is a concept she knows all too well.

But she doesn’t stop crying, either. She wouldn’t be able to, even if she tried.

“I’m so s-sorry.” It breaks and breaks and breaks, “I couldn’t--I just couldn’t--”

She can hear Cat’s footsteps outside the hall--can hear her pause like she’s heard an offensive buzzing in her office, intent on stopping it--but the sight must give her pause, the door splayed open and Kara--

Cat's breathless and Kara wonders if it's from a misguided rage towards her.

It’s Rule #1. It’s sacrilege, even if it’s tucked away in an office no one checks--even if there’s no reason why Cat should be here, at all--and Kara immediately moves to pull away from a sputtering Winn. Because she knows Cat’s seen her, heard the way the tears suffocate her throat, and Alex might as well be in her earpiece begging her to stumble to a stand in the middle of a fight because that’s what she does. That’s what Kara always has to do.

Supergirl. Cat was right, there are some things that aren’t her place to fix--offloading this burden on Winn’s shoulders is one of them.

“Kara, it’s not your fault. Kelly--”

She straightens her blouse and wobbles into heels and wipes hands underneath her eyes, trying to clear her throat.

“You can’t blame yourself for--”

She lifts her jaw and walks to the edge of the office, turning to face her boss, Winn clamoring behind her but freezing a few steps behind when he sees what must have caught his best friend’s attention.

There’s Cat Grant, leaning against the edge of a doorway with an unreadable look on her face, eyes searching features of her assistant’s face like she’s trying to encapture her existence in a headline. Glasses hang limply by the leg between two fingers but Cat doesn’t twirl them--doesn’t gesture--just meets her gaze and doesn’t move.

Cat followed her.

The thought is enough to strangle the last hope of breath in Kara's chest.

“Did you need anything, Ms. Grant?” Her voice rasps--hollow even to her own ears--and for once, if Cat’s noticed that she’s been crying, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t point out the dark circles or the sagging cheeks--the unkempt hair or wrinkled blouse--at least not now. Not in this moment.

She pushes off the doorway, a breath from Kara’s nose, and answers, voice measured, calm, and quiet, after a moment has passed between them, the question hanging in the air. “Go home.” The dismissal is followed by a shake of the head, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Another moment passes and it takes more than it should for Kara to keep her composure, but her eyebrows crinkle and her face crumples and her breath quivers and she has to look away for another moment, eyes wrenching shut. “Thank you.” Is all she breathes before she leaves a wide-eyed Winn, shirt wet, crumpled, and ripped at the seams, and an unusually quiet Cat Grant, who watches her until the elevator doors close.

It’s not until Kara’s three floors down that she hears Cat turn around, the muffled insistence of:

“You too, computer-gnome.” She starts walking away, then, probably calling over her shoulder but the sound of it is different without that tell-tale quirk of her lips and Kara wishes there were lead glasses for ears, because she wishes she never knew the difference in Cat’s voice, at all, in this moment: “You both look like shit.”

It’s not until days later, Non’s presence looming over her--another world hanging on the balance on the quaking balance of her breath--the office slowly filtering out on a Friday, unassuming and soon empty, that Cat mentions anything, at all.

Heels click behind her on the balcony and Kara pulls away--tries to acknowledge her with a fumble of adjusted glasses and a slim smile--but Cat just raises her hand, voice surprising in its gentleness.

“I didn’t realize you and Kelly were friends.” It’s cold outside and Kara can see the goosebumps rise up her shoulders. “Well, _you’re_ friends with everyone in the building.” Cat corrects and she can just _hear_ the flippant eye roll, but something far gentler follows, “But I didn’t realize…”

“I just…” Eyes close and her skin practically vibrates when Cat steps closer. “Felt like there was more I could do.” Is what Kara settles on, focusing on the way the sun glistens off of the windows as it disappears behind the horizon instead of the way the glass reflects something dark in Cat’s eyes. Something Kara can relate to.

It doesn’t take xray vision to see underneath the makeup flawlessly covering dark circles underneath Cat’s eyes--Kara’s spent two years helping her boss check it with no mirrors available--and when she turns around, her fingers itch to gently brush along the line of it, taking cream away with them. Cat still isn't sleeping.

Survivor’s guilt.

“I should have been there for her.”

“And where were you, Kara?” Cat asks, stepping closer. The journalist in her, undoubtedly, always sniffing--always curious--and Kara isn’t sure if she’s tired of it or finds familiarity in it. Fondness curls up the back of her throat and fingers fidget with her glasses, breath heavy in her chest.

“Not there for her.” She repeats, a slim grimace tucks up lips, chin ducking.

“There was nothing you could have done even if _you_ were.” A hip rests against the balcony, arm sliding against an assistant’s, their eyes meeting. “And even if there was, Kara.” Fingers skim upwards, curling around the north face of a shoulder like a rock climber intending on ascending up to the look in Kara’s eyes.

Even for a woman without superpowers, Kara is certain Cat could scale the mountain of her shoulders in a single bound.

“You have to accept your choices.”

“I do.” Kara admits, leaning into the touch, “I never forget them.” She leans forward so that she can see Cat clearly through the glare of her glasses--can feel the way her breath hitches against her chin, though the distance between them isn’t a mountain that’s climbed. It might never be charted. Boldly acknowledging, “I don’t think you do either, Cat. I know you don’t.”

“True.” It’s a hum and, surprisingly, Cat’s head falls to her shoulder, instead, fingers falling down to cross over her chest, warding off what's quickly becoming night air, turning around to watch the city with her. Without a word, Kara shrugs off a cardigan--thin but likely better than no armor against the cool wind, at all--wrapping it around slim shoulders. “I can’t have my assistant freezing on my account.” The protest isn’t weak--nothing Cat does ever is, is it?--but there’s no true fight in it and for the first time in weeks Kara lets a small, breathless laugh slip past her lips.

“No, it’s okay.” Her arms wrap around shoulders, eyes closing as she pulls Cat tighter--feels the way she slots against her chest--and filters out the sound of the city to focus on the soft beat of a heart, somehow settling in the knowledge that for this moment--right now--Cat won't push her away. “I’m okay.”

She hasn’t been cold in a decades.

There’s the faint sound--the hitch of Cat’s breath before it...settles, rhythm evening out into something quiet. Hairs on arms, covered by fingers and fabric, stand to attention, goosebumps raising ridges on the slim valleys below knuckles. But this time, Cat leans in closer, Kara’s nose thoughtlessly turning into her temple, listening to the building settle with no one else in it.

Instead of focusing on the city and the lights and all of the people in it, Kara focuses on one--on that one, gentle, consistent heartbeat--and the choice still weighs heavier in the back of her mind. She can still see Kelly’s body painting cement with prayers and hopelessness, but she can feel Cat’s fingers untangle from her shoulders to curl in the fabric of a sleeveless blouse, seeking out some small warmth she must find radiating from arms, and it’s...easier.

“Next time,” Cat doesn’t move, voice far gentler than it should be. Her lips turn towards Kara’s ear, breath dancing along a neck, and for the first time all night she feels a shiver up her spine. Breath dances against lips. “Don’t come out here alone.”

A flicker of a smile. She’s not Kal-El. She’s not naive, either, no matter what Alex says--and in the most selfish urge she’s ever had, she’ll hold onto this warmth as long as she can. Cat eases the knots in her chest with deft fingers and breathless lips. She makes it easier, and Kara refuses to believe that _that’s_ the most dangerous thing, of all.

Instead, Kara hopes--maybe even _chooses_ \--to believe that she makes this easier for Cat, too.

She nods in quiet agreement, and when she turns back towards the city, she doesn’t mind seeing the reflection of Cat’s eyes in the windows, now--the sight of her arms snaking around a waist and Cat settling against her--and a quivering breath evens between them like a house finding its place at night. "If you'll join me?" Cat pats her hand in understanding, ear turning to lay above her heart, not answering the question as much as forging on.

“You were right.” Cat quietly concedes, “I was avoiding Adam. And Carter.”

“And me.” Kara murmurs but she can hear the smile in Cat’s voice:

“Don’t push it.” Cat hasn’t moved her hand, finger idly skimming along the line of a knuckle. “From the sounds of your internal war, I, the kettle, hardly want to get lectured by a pot when we’re both the same color as a little black dress.” The nail skims down and up, charting a course in a series of shivers up to Kara’s heart. It’s a sensation she won’t get used to, stomach full of lead, but soon becomes intoxicated by. “I’m sorry. About the other day. I knew you wouldn’t…” She trails off, “I know that wasn't your intent. She was my employee. I hired her. I watched it happen a few feet away and was...powerless.” It’s a heavy admission, Cat’s breath cracking along the edges despite her even tone in explanation. More of an explanation than Kara ever expected. Kara's fingers curl around biceps so that they don't wipe underneath haunted eyes. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Cat.” The blame lies on her shoulders. But maybe that’s more selfish than Kara ever realized, as well. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“I know.” Cat agrees, “But to feel powerless in protecting people I was charged to take care of…” A hum. “I didn’t want my sons to see the darkness that brought out.” A beat, “Or...you.” But Cat continues before Kara can comment on it, “The best thing we can ever do is move forward.”

“I am who I am today because of the choices I made yesterday.” Kara thoughtlessly murmurs, nose barely turning into a jaw as a plane passes overhead, miles away. “I guess I just...hope I’m making the right ones to be the person I want to be.”

A thoughtful hum greets her, “As long as you keep that in mind, then they’ll always be the best choices you could make in the moment. We can only ever learn from our choices, Kara. I don’t believe in failure. Only momentary setbacks and learning opportunities.” Another moment stretches, words sinking in as Kara’s hand slowly turns, memorizing the feeling of a nail tracing the rivers of her palm. The sun finally sets and when the world quiets Kara finds no small solace in it. “You know, I always preferred another quote by Eleanor Roosevelt.”

“Let me guess. Probably the one that was…” Kara’s chin tips a little up, a hint of humor breaking through the depths of her eyes, “What was it? ‘ _Work is always the best way to pull yourself out of the depths_?’ That one?”

Cat’s laugh is faint, finger dipping up from a palm to slide between a gap, Kara gently catching it, “That a woman is like a teabag. You’ll never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water. Though that one's just as true.” The rest of their fingers twine, two black pots of boiling water in the cool night. A small smile is shared between them and Kara’s not sure how long they stand there--how long she holds Cat against her like it’s the most natural thing in the world--but it seems, for once, that time gives them a break. No newspaper emergencies. No sirens.

No plots to take over the world (for the moment).

None that Kara hears, anyways.

“Thank you,” Kara murmurs, voice thick and quiet underneath the sounds of the city. Underneath the weight of a set sun that will only rise in the morning. “For being here.” Her lips turn to breathe over an ear, sincere and gentle, "For letting me...be here. For you, too."

Cat squeezes her hand and even the Kryptonian isn’t sure she hears it, it’s so quiet, whispered against a bare neck.

“Anytime you need it, Kara.”

But Kara does hear it, lips barely parting over a temple, eyelashes fluttering closed, “You too, Catherine.”

Cat smiles and doesn’t pull away, both of them warm in the cool night air.

\--

Days later, the last general of Fort Rozz is left blinded on the ground, arm hitting the ground in a final symposium as his niece races against time to push the very thing threatening every one she loves, just as she’d feared for weeks.

But instead of fear, _serenity_ finds what’s sure to be her last breaths, the realization of her _choices_ taking full effect--Cat would be proud--fingers curling around the sound of her sister’s insistent voice as it fades into warmth, a small smile spreading along her lips.

She doesn’t feel her own pod push her towards the atmosphere or her body plummet through, caught by every news crew on the planet, cratering into the Earth with a resolute thud.

If she did, she’d probably recognize that it _hurts._

Alex and Eliza don’t leave her small little apartment for weeks after, even when Kara makes it past crutches to a singular cast, leg propped up and cabin fever settling in her chest. She’s stocked up enough sick leave to take a large enough leave of absence--something Kara Danvers is legally eligible to take without losing her employment, thanks to the official story of her being _hit by a piece of a ship as it left orbit_. (Regular Kara Danvers is a particularly unlucky girl)--but it doesn’t stop her from calling Carter on Saturdays, Kara fighting to stay awake as Alex goes through theories and physics and...Science-things. It doesn't stop her from playing cards with Winn and James, who leans a little too close. It doesn't stop Kara from responding to emails from a very frantic replacement assistant, who is hoping to survive Kara's absence with their life. 

And it doesn't stop her from calling her boss to wish her goodnight, even though she knows she shouldn't--even though she knows Cat's hand likely hesitates every time before she picks up the phone. Every night, Kara hobbles out to her fire escape to look out over the city, phone tucked in hand, ignoring the curious, teasing gazes Alex sends her way like clockwork.

Cat doesn’t visit--she has an empire to run--but Lucy delivers goodbyes with a small package tucked underneath her arm.

A signed copy of _Diary of A Superfluous Man_ is tucked inside, an inscription on the front cover. 

"Who's that from, sweetie?" Eliza asks, ever curious and as much of a bookworm as her husband once (and maybe still) is, Lucy giving Kara a knowing look even as Alex perks up, eyebrows raising around the edge of a kitchen as she pops the lid off of a beer. 

"A friend." Kara murmurs, tucking the book in a safe spot by her bed, sun heating the skin of her shoulders in warmth. She calls Cat that night with a faint laugh on her lips, thanking her as fingers skim along raised, familiar script. 

_Only you would have the luck to be struck by a piece of a ship leaving the atmosphere that saved everyone else. It's a hint of irony at its finest._

_Heal quickly--no one has you to protect them from being fired, anymore._

_I'm certain the choices you made were the right ones, Kara._

_-Cat._

It's all of the motivation she needs.

\--

 **Rule #38.** **Keep it strictly professional**.

Kara's been back for a month when it settles in her bones like that same feeling of contentment had, floating above the Earth with purpose and clarity in her veins.

She's as much of an expert as an alien can be on human culture, she thinks. Not as much of an expert as Kal-El, maybe, but close, so it surprises her when she discovers that things like this really can, just...happen. She thought it was an event that was relegated to movies or books or cheesy CW tv shows. 

There’s no monumental change--no booming, orchestral music or long monologue. There’s no confession or drama-filled shouting match. No tears. No cheesy pick-up lines or heart-felt confessions. No real conversation, at all.

It’s eleven at night, Kara sifting through an endless mountain of applications at a small desk, when Cat moves to pass her, a goodnight on her lips. Kara stands out of habit to move to retrieve her coat and their shoulders brush--their fingers gently caress up the ridges of a palm--and something dark is there to greet her.

It tastes like static shock on her tongue when their eyes meet, breath heavy and office quiet enough for her to listen to the persistent kick of a drum in Cat’s chest. Kara remembers a faint warmth about the black mercy, too, right before she’d fallen underneath it, and she feels that same feeling in the heat of unassuming fingers. So she pulls away and wraps the coat around Cat’s shoulders, thumbs brushing along skin, and when elegant fingers reach up to tuck the wayward wisps of rebelling gold that have fallen out of a ponytail behind Kara’s ear--an intimate gesture that shouldn't be so intimate--Kara tells herself that she can’t-- _can’t--_

And then it happens.

Kara leans back to move--to give Cat space and air--when hands cup the back of her neck and tug her down with the force of gravity itself and who's Kara's weak body of steel to not comply, beams of her neck melting underneath a molten fire, a gasp causing their mouths to meet in an open kiss.

An open kiss that doesn't end.

Cat tastes like fine bourbon and honey and smells like ink and perfume. Her fingers dance like electricity, supercharged life curling through the fraying fibers of an arching spine, Kara's arms immediately moving to twine around a waist--to pull Cat flush up against her, desk jostling in retaliation.

Stacks upon stacks of notebooks, blank pages littered with hastily scribbled notes should have prepared her for this. But memories of crushed bed posts from tripping at two in the morning on the way to the bathroom--several boyfriends with broken noses--Alex’s bent arm from a missed highfive when they were 13--Kal-el’s voice in her ear, fingers curling around a shoulder as he warns her that they’re _dangerous_ as she sobs over a small, lifeless form broken underneath her fingertips--none of it deters the spreading warmth in her chest. Because in this moment she _is_ something dangerous. It catches the breath in her throat and selfishly calls her to steal every ounce of Cat's in retaliation. Fingers ache to turn into boulders, but her fingertips curl around hips _just_ tight enough to be vines. It churns and _aches_ and the word is something that might be mispronounced on her tongue because she's only ever read it, never felt it in hot breaths and fingers tangling in her hair, tugging out a ponytail as Cat pins her against her desk. Her home for over two years.

Lust.

It's pure, sheer lust. Red curls up her throat husking a noise that breaks against Cat’s mouth. Lust.

A scattered breath sears from her nostrils, lungs desperate for air but a greedy mouth unwilling to compromise and when the kiss finally does break, it’s all Kara can do to think, let alone _not_ break every rule she’s ever had.

“Cat…” The name rasps from her lungs like a prayer--a foreign sound in a language Kara couldn’t even try to understand--eyes dark as a nose brushes along the ridge of her cheek. As Cat brushes lips, imperceptibly softer, along the edge of her jaw, teeth scraping along with them. Their eyes meet again and for once she’s not surprised to see that same emotion--that same lust--shining back at her. Kara breathes her in like her lungs couldn’t possibly have enough room to fit her, and an owlish blink is the best attempt she has at straightening her thoughts. “We…” She trails off but doesn’t motion to pull away, tongue darting out over lips that still taste like the woman against her.

The same woman who lets out a simmering sigh, tossing a hairclip she’s stolen over her shoulder, the noise as it clatters ultimately forgotten in favor of memorizing the sound of Cat’s heartbeat raging in Kara’s ears. “Stop overthinking this, Kara.” It’s a request, not an order, but Kara doesn’t recognize the difference--won’t recognize the subtle difference when it comes to Cat Grant until several notebooks are filled thrice over--because _Rule #11_ notes that Cat will never ask, at all.

And who is Kara in this charade? Regular, ordinary, unassuming Kara Danvers--to deny anything from Cat Grant, tugging her closer and kissing her with every hint of extraordinary she was never supposed to be and everything she wishes she could, because for this moment...she longs for it. Longs for Cat.

Lusts for her in a way she never knew a Kryptonian could.

Before she truly understands what's happened, they're in a familiar office, eyes dark as she's pushed up against a bar--a nice sharp change from the desk--glasses rattling, the sound of marble cracking from the weight tickling the back of a fogged mind. Kara's fingers push off the jacket she’d just shielded a back with minutes--hours?--before, puddling along the floor as those same fingers quake from restraint, gently curving down shoulders that nails long to chart. Muscles flex from the effort to hold herself back from a consequence her mind hasn't quite caught up with, tongue smoothing a path along a lower lip.

A moan breaks the feverish pant of breaths between them, Kara's ears ringing, a flush of noises assaulting her senses, suddenly _full_ of her. A tongue slides into her mouth and Kara's hands cup underneath clenching thighs--underneath _Cat_ \--and lift her up into something far familiar, arms wrapping fully around a waist, supporting her. Holding her up like they’re flying. Legs curl around her like a vine--like a squeezing anaconda--and before long, it's Cat's back that's pressed into the indentation that Kara's made. It's not the first crater she's made this year, and it likely won't be the last.

Cat, whose fingers slide underneath the hem of a thin shirt, nails raking along the fabric of a hidden suit that Kara has no time to hide and gives Cat no option of discovering, mouth trailing down from bruised lips to a neck, feeling the way a pulse flutters underneath a breathless kiss.

She can feel the way Cat's whole body curls up into her, shoulders arching off the wall when she pins her there, pulling back to breathe. To feel Cat's fingers brush their her hair, tugging her upwards like a magnet, nose brushing into glasses, jostling them as their mouths meet again.

But this kiss is impossibly softer--consuming--Kara’s hands slowly sliding up to anchor Cat against the wall, feeling teeth gently tug at a lower lip. A hum rumbles against her in hot breaths and white teeth and when Kara finally opens her eyes, dark and clouded, there's a pair to meet her, guiding them over to the couch and easing Cat onto it. It's overwhelming, how much Kara wants to paint light along her skin. What would Cat look like, a canvas spread out on a white couch, fingerbrushes for fingers dipped in paint trailing along her stomach?

Kara's lips part once more but familiar fingers raise, stemming the words. “Don't.” Cats voice husks, lower than she's ever heard it, silk that curls and tightens around a clenching stomach. Kara kisses the palm hovering in front of her--the finger pressed against her lips, memorizing the way Cat’s breath hitches like it's a Kryptonian prayer. It’s frightening how she feels like she’s gone from never imagining truly kissing her to never imagining how to stop. “Stop talking before whatever over-encompassing, bumbling--”

“Okay. We don't have to do the...talking. I'm bad.” A breath, trying to ease the pound of her heart. Something Cat must notice because her hand splays over her chest, somewhere over a still-hidden crest at the edge of a wild drum. “With the...talking.” Hands trail up from a waist--thighs and knees and calves--before trailing back down again, pausing at an abdomen, Cat reaching down to guide her the rest of the way, heat chasing the faintest sheen of sweat up a painting of skin, watching the fabric puddle around her wrists the higher they go.

“So don't talk.” Cat offers more than just herself on a white couch. “If you want me…” Further up and up until palms are cupping the underside of breasts and Kara feels red at the edges of her tongue. Of her eyes. “Take me.”

That same feeling of kryptonite curling her fingers. Something dark and deep. Desire and lust and--

And she could hurt Cat, right now. She could really, truly hurt her, in more ways than one.

Cat must see the conflict, fingers tugging her down, once more, breathing against her lips, curling around wrists and keeping her in place before a hero can scramble off of the couch, keeping the girl pressed here, instead. _“Kara.”_

That's all the argument she ever needs, pushing hands up to curl around breasts, thumbs brushing as Cat arches up into her.

It just _happens_ , no precedent or fanfare, and with the memory of a breath moaning into her ear, arching hymns off of a white office couch, sweat coating the swell of a flattening tongue...even at her best, Kara will never be sorry that it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kryptonian Translations**; [Source](http://kryptonian.info/doyle/dictionary.html)
> 
> * **Lizrhom** * Definition: More. Many. In this case meaning "A thousand-times awkward yes"; **_Pronoun_** P: [li.ʒ͡rom] ; _Kryptonian_ : liZRom


	3. Chasing the Lumir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Work Kara understands. Cat Grant, Media Queen and CEO, Kara understands._
> 
>  
> 
> _Catherine, whose eyes could cause a star to fold upon itself into a spinning singularity going out of control with a single flutter of eyelashes--Catherine, whose tongue paints Monet’s against skin and fingers dance sonnets against hips--Catherine, whose laugh tickles as she skims smiles against the curve of an ever-arching back--Catherine, whose footfalls are gentle in steps without heels, soft like mist in clouds against Kara’s ears--Catherine, whose hands cup Kara’s cheeks in the darkest hours of the morning and the lightest hours of the night, and make her feel--make her feel--_  
>     
>  _Like she doesn’t understand the rules of anything, anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to consistently update this story on Sunday nights/Monday mornings from this point forward (seems like a good time for me). But I might throw a chapter in mid-this week. Just because it's already written and why not. 
> 
> As always, Kryptonian translations on the bottom. I've also added lores/stuff of that like to it, as well, if they've been referenced. 
> 
> I really appreciate everyone's feedback and would love critique--what do you think? What's going through your brain? Ideas/comments/concerns? I love me some good discussions, so come at me bro's/sis's/them's. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

**Rule #39. Cat Grant only wants to seem harsh. She’s kind underneath. Make sure all donations to charities are approved by Cat prior to going green after the board’s approval. (Cat will likely add a personal contribution)**

Underneath lost minutes and hours sharing stories until they're breathless, Kara finds out something pretty fantastic.

Cat’s laugh could light up the sky like a flaming meteorite if she wanted it to. It’s a lesson learned underneath searching, comfortable thumbs and a smile so unburdened that it feels like the weight of the world has fallen way to a crumpled pile of clothes lifetimes away, naked bodies unburdened and new.

If it didn’t feel so warm--so natural--Kara might be surprised she’s caused the laugh, at all.  

“Then Alex tripped trying to bring me the plate. I mean, it’s _one-hundred and five pounds,_ Cat.” Kara raises one hand in gesture like she might cross her heart in solemn sincerity. “I don’t lie about food challenges.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this right now.” But it’s hidden underneath the faint tinges of a still-trilling laugh in the night sky, the office quiet save for the noise of it still ringing in Kara’s ears.

“You said you thought I ate like a horse. I find that offensive and inaccurate.” The hand gestures, serious as she nods, “I’m told that it’s more…” Head tilting in concession, “Like an army of sailors.”

“Well I guess you had to make up in the sailor department somewhere, since I’m not even sure you _know_ any curse words, do you?”

“All of them are in Tagalog.” Kara’s lips quirk up at the edges, bright. This statement is one that Cat surprisingly doesn’t have a counter-argument to--or doesn’t seem surprised--finger smoothing along a collarbone in a way that makes a shiver roll down Kara’s spine, suddenly forgetting all about a growling stomach minutes prior that spawned the conversation in the first place.

“So you’re trying to claim you finished this entire one-hundred and five pound burger by yourself?” Cat’s eyebrow raises, nail dipping before it skims up along a neck.

“I have the t-shirt to prove it, Ms. Grant.” A breath, leaning into the touch, “And the college degree. It put me through my final semester. Now, I’m not really inclined to leave right now,” A raised hand gestures before falling back down to the couch, both of them sharing a small smile, “But I have a champion title to defend. I won’t be called a liar.”

“You have a very weird way of trying to impress me, Kara.” Cat notes, but doesn’t seem all that deterred despite the amusement cluttering her voice. It reminds her of a planet that smells of cinnamon and the laughter softens, admitting:

“Well, I don’t usually do...this.” Kara’s brows knit, elbows anchoring her above a halo of hair, head slowly lowering to a steady heartbeat. “I’m not really very...versed. In this.”

“Oh, no girltalk?” Cat quips.

“I've...actually never…” Kara clears her throat, nodding down towards a dark pile of clothes, shadows obscuring them in a lump of mystery, the smallest hint of ribbed blue hanging out underneath, discarded and forgotten for a few blissful hours, the light of the city dancing along its peaks and valleys. Even Cat seems content not to pry through the clothes, the identity she’s been seeking all year only a few feet away--only a few breaths above, even, still hidden underneath fogged glasses and content eyes. “And it’s been awhile since I’ve done…anything.”

“Oh, really? No college experimentation. No ya ya sisterhood phase of exploration?” Cat prods further, always picking up on words unsaid, tone light as that same nail traces along the line of dark frames still settled on Kara’s nose.

A nervous laugh, “No. None of...that. Not even really that many, um…” A nose scrunches, searching for a word before she settles on, “...anyone-s.”

“Oh,” It's a hum of realization--a delicious scoop--glint in eyes obvious even in the dark, leaning up on elbows to look at the head that’s contently resting on a bare chest. “So the Puritan sweaters weren't just a fashion statement.” Kara shrugs in answer, embarrassment about this not something that finds her, her own fingers tracing symbols that Cat will never be able to read along an abdomen, marveling at the way muscles clench and flex beneath her skin. “You must have had a line of boys lining up around the block to go after your blonde, cheerleader charm.”

“I've never been a cheerleader.” There’s a little laugh that breaks, unbidden, from her lips at the image--Alex would have freaked out at the image of her younger sister accidentally launching some poor girl into space--watching the way breath stands Cat’s hair on end when it breaks against her sternum. “It’s not a gender thing. I told you, I'm not...that part of my life…” She shakes her head, long locks falling like golden waterfalls between them, shielding the world outside windows from their view. “I didn't know I could…” Tries again, “I didn’t know things could feel like this. With someone. Things were just...different where I was raised. I guess…” Realization settles, a calm, ever-hopeful smile sliding up lips as her hand smooths down Cat’s cheek as the other woman leans closer and closer, still, murmuring against an ear. Admitting: “I guess, I never found a good reason to adapt.”

“It looks like you found one.” A tongue curves dangerously around an earlobe and Kara breathes something through her nostrils in French, eyes rolling back into her head when nails rake down her stomach.

She can't feel the pain from it, but Catherine Grant still--always--makes quite the impression, teeth nipping at a collarbone.

“I did.” It’s not an agreement she shies away from, settling deep in her stomach, muscles clenching.

“You’re lucky _I’m_ the one to invite you into the world of very, very good sex.” The greeting is followed by a knowing hand moving lower until Kara can't do much of anything, at all. Before fingers dip down places only a Black Mercy would allow her to dream of and she tenses only a moment--only a breath in hesitation and fear of letting herself go too far--before a gentle, husking voice in her ear eases the fire in her throat in favor of stoking it in her stomach, instead, thighs clenching and spreading. “ _Kara_.”

Suddenly she’s an Imp, mind floating about the 5th dimension as her brain scatters, mouth dry as lips part, because apparently all Cat has to do is say her _name_ to tame any part of her before fingers tangle in hair, back arching, a spell cast underneath shadow highlights of parted lips.

It’s slower than she ever thought Cat would be, wandering images and paintings on the back of eyelids late at night--Cat’s teasing and thoughtful and _thorough_ and Kara is ultimately left quaking, desperately trying not to buck up against brittle human bones when nails push her hips down on the couch, shoulders finding an armrest.

A hand falls in carpet and tangles there so that she doesn’t rip the cushion when teeth graze down her chest--her stomach--her hip--

“Catherine.” It’s practically a plea and before long Kara’s a mess on the couch, tugging hips towards her, greedily catching a mouth she’s lucky not to break. It feels like light itself spread between them and she tries to catch it like a small girl trying to catch a Lumir underneath the familiar red warmth of the sun, gasping against a mouth.

The most shameless part of all is that it’s Cat’s eyes--dark and knowing and _vulnerable_ \--that makes her break mountains with the fists tangled in a carpet, pushing her just far enough away so that she doesn’t break her, too.

But the distance doesn’t last for long, both of them panting, eyes watching fingers so innocently slide between smirking lips before Kara catches them, tongue smoothing over a lip, the feeling _consuming_.

An hour later, she’s forgotten all about food eating competitions--food, at all, which might be a first--and fears puddling along with that same stack of clothes, hands smoothing down hips to anchor Cat against her waist as their breath catches, rolling down, nails digging into sides and teeth tugging on a lip--

_It’s been--one week since I looke--_

She feels Cat’s sharp breath--feels the clench of her fingers and the icy stare she sends in the direction of the phone--and Kara thinks she might just let it go, the sound of _Barenaked Ladies,_ kind of fitting and bone-crushingly awkward, filtering through the room, cutting off midverse. Kara straightens her glasses, catching Cat’s parted lips--

“If she really needs me,” It’s barely a breath and she wouldn’t recognize her own voice if she tried, “She’ll call a--”

It's impossible since Kara’s pretty sure machines here don’t have the sentient intelligence to be as passive aggressive as Kelex can be sometimes, but her phone sounds _angrier--_

_IT’S BEEN. ONE WEEK SINCE YOU LOOKED AT M--_

There’s no way that Alex’s ringtone is this long. Blue eyes, unfocused and hazed, blink through sweat and a clenching, burning flame snaking around her throat when teeth bite at her neck.

The feeling of Cat trying to claim skin that can’t be broken--steel--but Kara still melts in her hands--

**_IT’S. BEEN. ONE WEEK SINCE Y---_ **

A third phone call and that very choice curse in Tagalog leaves her lips, gently easing Cat up, breathless and blinking, glasses askew on the bridge of flaring nostrils. Her common sense seems to kick in, a faint worry--always a faint worry, when it comes to Alex--and she just hopes the world isn’t ending. Again. Not now. “Something--that’s my sister. Something could be--”

**_HOT LIKE WASABI WHEN I BUST RHYMES--BIG LIKE LEANN--_ **

“Go.” Cat waves a hand, collapsing back into the couch with a heavy, frustrated breath, sweat pooling in the dip of her neck as she waves both hands when waving one doesn't work. “Go. Go. Just shut it _up_ , Kara.”

**_YOU TRY TO MATCH WITS--YOU TRY TO--_ **

“Right.” Kara clears her throat--moves to catch it and then hesitates, catching Cat’s lips in a soft gesture that shouldn’t be so familiar (so _easy_ )--before stumbling off of the couch on uneasy legs to rummage through her clothes, pulling a phone out of a coat pocket.

**_BUT I BUST TH--_ **

“Please,” Kara fumbles with the phone in her haste, having difficulty answering it with wet fingers that she _cannot_ think about when she’s on the phone with her sister. Annoyance is an emotion that only shows with family--especially on Kara Danvers’ tongue--and she’s sure Cat must be impressed by the mix of it in her tone. “Tell me you’re okay right now. Or...like...on fire. Or something important. Not that I _want_ you on fire, but now is really not a goo--”

“ **_Winn’s_ ** _on fire.”_

Alex’s voice filters through, crackling through cell signal and Kara pauses, immediately straightening, back tight, shoulders suddenly representing the wide anchors of a cape. She’s ready to lean down and grab her clothes--to make an excuse and run out of the room--jump off of the balcony and hopefully literally kiss Cat Grant but more likely just her job goodbye--

“What do you mean he’s on fire?!” Her voice’s sharp tone causes a rustle of curiosity from the couch that she can hear, this time, not just imagine. “Where?”

“ _I’m kidding. Calm down. Calm down._ ” It’s easy laughter from the other side around a mouthful of food, something crinkling in the background, the sigh of relief clear as fingers shuffle the phone in her hand to her other ear. “ _Wow, you’re never that easy. Sorry for worrying you. You must be tense. Late night?”_

“Oh, really funny, Alex. You know Winn hates fire. And doesn’t have the best track rec--”

“ _Wait._ ” Obediently (for once) Kara does, blinking, “ _Why do you sound...funny?_ ” And Kara can swear she hears the slit of eyes. The tell-tale sister-radar ticking in the back of a mind. “ _You sound Kara-hiding-something-funny. Not just fell asleep on your desk funny._ ”

“I--nothing.” Kara clears her throat and adjusts glasses save for the fact that she’s entirely naked, otherwise, eyes flicking towards Cat before her gaze settles on the ground, clearing her throat. Maybe a little childish: “Nothing. I’m not funny. You’re funny.”

“ _You know,"_ Alex practically sings, " _I could always just check the tracker…”_

Voice lowering into a feverish whisper, “You did not--did you seriously put a tracker on me?” Her head pops up, blinking.

“ _Bringing breakfast.”_

“Alex, that was a joke, right?” She feels like she’s beating a fist against a very, very dead horse (Kara never really understood that saying--it always sounded so _cruel_ ). “Please tell me there isn't a tracker in my brain. Ale--”

But the line is dead and Kara clears her throat, dropping it unceremoniously onto a pile of clothes, hesitantly walking back over to the couch. And there, unmoving and unstirred, is Cat Grant, one leg crossed over a knee like she’s conducting an interview on life, itself, eyebrows raised as she waits for an explanation.

“I...had forgotten to check in with my sister…” Eyes flick towards the city, still dark. “Technically last night, now. The last thing she heard was that I was at work and she was heading to my building with breakfast, and…” She trails off, coming closer to the couch and the dislodged table next to it, offering a sheepish smile to her...boss. To Cat Grant, her boss and friend and sudden lover, weight dipping the couch, a small laugh forcing its way through her nostrils as she sits. It’s not hard to imagine the worried, disgruntled peace offering of bagels tucked in her sister’s arms as she shuffles into an unmarked van halfway across the city and Kara looks down at palms, fingers still slick and throat still warm.

“You and your sister must be close.” There’s something hidden behind the tone but Kara doesn’t dive into it--doesn’t want to ruin the image of any of these moments--and she turns towards her, once more adjusting glasses. Cat says it like she’s just realized this just now, not in the quiet, laughing stories and brushing fingers, and their shoulders brush.

“Old habits.” A murmur, reaching forward to squeeze Cat’s hand. “I...wasn’t kidding about us getting breakfast. It’s almost morning. And I know you have to go pick up Carter, today, at lunch, so food couldn’t hurt. I...can come in after and fix everything up and--”

“Kara.” Cat shushes, tone surprisingly gentle, squeezing the hand back before she turns around a wrist, eyes curiously taking in a golden watch that's been on her assistant's hand constantly for the past month. “What time is--”

“Oh, that won’t…” It’s almost habit to pull a wrist away like how she moves a nose from prying eyes and glasses or makes sure all of her shirts are tucked in at the waist, but it’s different, with Cat. It’s a faint flex of an arm that relaxes instead of pulls, quietly explaining as simple as it can be: “It’s...set to a different time zone. But I just looked at my phone. It’s almost 5.”

“Five A.M?” Cat’s thumb skims along gold, blinking a little, and Kara realizes she’s surprised, both of them looking towards the still-dim city, wondering when the light will come up on a ruffled couch, together. “Of course it’s Five A.M.” A few staggering seconds pass between them and Kara wonders what happened to the sound of Cat’s laugh painting the walls in bright blue.

“Cat…” She starts, tongue darting out over lips.

“Before we start any kind of awkward confrontation because I’m past the awkward bumbling stage of my life, Kara, you said before that you couldn’t do a serious--”

“I said I didn’t do casual, either.” Kara immediately argues, though she’s unsure why--unsure why she suddenly feels like she’s pressing hands against the fogging glass of a pod, watching as Cat’s shoulders straighten and her lips thin, eyes changing from kind to protective. Cat’s lips part and Kara can feel it like electricity rising on the back of her neck when she floats through clouds in a thunderstorm, gently raising her free hand. “We don’t have to--we really shouldn’t do this now, Cat.” She tries, instead, reveling in the fact that Cat hasn’t let go of her hand, just yet, and Kara leans forward, far bolder than she ever should be, gently catching lips in a soft kiss.

Cat leans into her, at least, and that’s not something that could be glossed over if either of them tried, fingers smoothing up from a wrist to tangle in hair.

“Just…” Kara breathes against parted lips, “Come to breakfast with me. I...still have a championship title to defend.” She can feel a faint smile like she can taste the sun starting to rise. Like it electrifies her bones and fills her with some superhuman kind of strength. Like she could fly. “I’ll even make breakfast, if you want. I just don’t really want us to end on the awkward...I--this isn't a walk of shame, and I don't want it to end like...whatever that's like.”

“I can’t.” Cat declines, fingers still lightly brushing through the fine hairs on the back of a neck. “Not because you haven’t made a surprisingly convincing argument for what your argument was,” It’s more of an acknowledgment than Kara expects, “Which was effectively nothing. Or not because it’s a horrible idea, which is it.” She won’t deny that. All of this is likely a very, very bad idea. “I promised Carter I would pick him up this morning, not for lunch.”

“Oh.” It’s a faint breath and maybe an odd thing to smile about, relieved and quiet, but Kara smiles anyways. It’s not rejection. Realization settling in, a mental schedule for both Cat and Carter always at the back of her mind: “You’re taking him to breakfast before his science presentation?”

A nod, a hint of pride tucking up Cat’s lips before they pull away. “He’s insistent you helped him get an A.”

“Right.” Kara laughs a little, honest: “I didn’t have anything to do with it. Trust me. Besides, he’s...really smart. Like, _really_ smart.” And so is her sister. It’s all them. A hovering, pen-tapping assistant just makes the phone calls. Kara’s finger skims along a wrist--up along the faint beat of a heart that leaps to meet her underneath warm skin--before slowly standing, offering her hand. ”Well, I can at least call you a car. And…” She straightens glasses, teeth tucking the edge of lips in something unashamedly hopeful: “Walk you down?”

Cat searches her features for a few moments before she takes the hand, standing to meet her eyes. When she’s turned away to pick up a bra, Kara whisks a suit to a balcony, coming behind to slowly help hook the back with attentive fingers like it’s one of countless occasions she’s zipped a dress, making a show of getting dressed, herself, darker eyes settled on the nearby open window in a hint of curiosity at the sudden draft that’s cooled the room.

Eventually, a coat that was intended to be slipped on shoulders hours before finds its way into the _dry clean_ pile on Kara’s desk, pulling out an ever-waiting secondary outfit, instead. Kara pauses at the parted roads between them, an eyeroll her companion's response.

Elevators.

“Stop looking like a puppy dog, Kara.” It’s a lilting chide, fingers curling in the lapel of a button up with a short tug, Kara stumbling in heels as they make their way towards a private elevator instead of a far more comfortable public one, the doors closing with a hum of smooth vibration and finality. Arms curl in front of a chest out of habit, listening to the floors go by in ticks, the shimmering metal in front of them showcasing Cat’s attentive eyes in streaks of gray.

“Don’t make it a habit.” Cat warns.

Kara just focuses on the ticks and the familiar purse of lips instead of the smaller walls. Clearing her throat to hide the over-zealous nature of her words.

“Oh, you really don’t have to worry about that, Ms. Grant. Trust me.”

By the time they make it downstairs, the air is heavy with mist, twinkling stars hidden by ever-present city lights, and Kara waits until Cat has turned around to greet the driver to retrieve something she’s sure she’ll need in a gust of wind, there to offer a small smile when both the driver--Kenny must be working the night shift, today, sharing a smile and a tip of a hat--and Cat greet her.

“I think it’s going to rain, today. Your large one. For Carter.” Their fingers brush when Cat takes the gesture with barely-pursed lips and Kara’s sure she’s itching to fix her makeup in the car. Softer--lingering like fingers along an umbrella handle, “Goodnight, Ms. Grant.”

“I think you mean Good Morning, Kara.”

The city’s waking up around them, both of their eyes meeting above the rim of a passenger side door for a heel’s click of time before that’s it, Cat pulling away in elegant black and smooth, expensive tires.

Time is relative to Kara in a way it isn’t relative to most--more like a close cousin than a far off, betraying uncle--and it doesn’t take long for a suit to find its way underneath clothes, soon standing in front of an immaculate office opposite a barely-visible, repaired crack in marble, just as dust-free as it was when she entered it.

Her murmur of _Good Morning_ is lost along the taste of rain in the clouds.

She gives herself a moment--just a _thrib_ \--to imagine the sun painting blonde locks and a stack of pancakes. A minute later, she opens an apartment door before her sister can kick it (three times--always a really weird obsession with kicking it _three_ times), smiling at the sight, hair damp from a shower.

Suspicious eyes slit, a bag of bagels hanging from a muffled mouth to accommodate for the other four bags Alex has hanging from her hands like crumpled bouquets of gluten-flowers.

Kara knows Alex sees it--sees the toppled state of her cushions and the faint, air-jostled rustle of sheets like a wind of life has rushed through the space--but, surprisingly, her sister doesn’t comment on it, dropping all of the bagels in the counter to greedy hands, snatching up her own before Kara can get it.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love you?” It’s asked around a mouthful of two bagels shoved elegantly in a Kryptonian's mouth--starving; she’s not sure she’s worked up this much of an appetite since Non--Alex just dropping a head on her shoulder while she sips at black coffee, eyes a little lighter, the remnants of four slain bags of donuts single-handedly bested by a small blonde happily chewing away only evidenced by empty, unassuming paper.

“You better.”

Hours later, it’s business as usual, like the past night never happened. Kara follows Cat like an obedient golden retriever and immediately responds to the shrill ring of _Kiera_ like her job depends on it--because it _does_ \--though there’s the faintest hint of a lilt at the end of it, like the corner of Cat’s lips curve at the edge. Cat, who commands an entire empire without a second thought, no sleep underneath her eyes but not looking, for a second, like it’s affected her, at all.

She looks flawless.

But some things affect Cat, Kara knows, because it’s the lightest she’s seen her since she tucked a too-small body against her chest, sleeping on a couch what feels like a lifetime ago.

It’s not like Kara to take credit for it--to even relate it to herself--but even the guiltiest part of her is glad to see it. Glad to see Cat Grant back in her element, something close to happy, focused, and alive.

The only indication at all is when Cat’s hand smooths along a bar, glass empty and in desperate need of refilling, pausing at a faded crack, barely visible to a human eye. Her back straightens and her eyebrows barely furrow and Kara sees it--sees it as plain as day--before Cat twists back on her heel and continues to take the world by media storm one short demand at a time.

Cat smiles.    

\--

**Rule #40. Cat Grant quote #1: "Personal lives are personal for a reason. In business, 'personal' is only a gentler word for 'effective'. A useful tool.**

Unfortunately (probably, because Kara is not versed in this) the trend of _not_ talking about things just...continues.

_“We don’t have long.” Eager hands push up the hem of a shirt, a milkyway of skin waiting, slowly skimming higher and higher as the fabric rumples. She can’t even bring herself to care that she’ll have to iron it, herself, this afternoon. “Your next meeting is--”_

_“So hurry it up.” Cat hisses, tugging Kara closer, both of them falling backwards against an over-zealous printer, a younger hand slapping up to hold the door closed. “We’re in the copier room, Kara, not a goddamn--”_

_Kara cuts her off the only reliable way she’s learned how, mouth catching lips, hands falling down to unhook the clasp of pressed pants, far more comfortable matching Cat Grant physically than in a game of wits._

Less unfortunately--mind-blowingly and probably defying all possible statistical odds--so does the sex.

It’s like Kara’s drawn to her. It’s this undeniable, breathless pull in her chest--in her stomach--like a magnet seeking even the smallest sliver of an iron spine. And, more amazingly, Cat might feel the same. Work is professional, guidelines set in stone with a rulebook Kara knows how to follow, Cat Grant unforgiving and relentless. Kara takes on more work without a single question or, occasionally, a single direction, scheduling and putting out fires with sand in her breath and certainty in her spine.

Work Kara understands. Cat Grant, Media Queen and CEO, Kara understands.

 _Catherine_ , whose eyes could cause a star to fold upon itself into a spinning singularity going out of control with a single flutter of eyelashes-- _Catherine_ , whose tongue paints _Monet’s_ against skin and fingers dance sonnets against hips-- _Catherine,_ whose laugh tickles as she skims smiles against the curve of an ever-arching back-- _Catherine,_ whose footfalls are gentle in steps without heels, soft like mist in clouds against Kara’s ears-- _Catherine_ , whose hands cup Kara’s cheeks in the darkest hours of the morning and the lightest hours of the night, and make her feel--make her _feel--_

Like she doesn’t understand the rules of anything, anymore.

It’s unspoken, at first. Lines that Kara wouldn’t know how to cross even if she wanted to. At first, she’s ever the obedient assistant, only picking up on hints and clues Cat drops like breadcrumbs, not daring to voice her own. A flippant, casual line about needing to get air leads to Kara’s fingers barely managing to keep herself from bending the steel railing of the balcony. A lost bangle returned after stopping a bombthreat, Kara a little breathless as she passes the accessory into knowing fingers leads to a desk. Needing travel arrangements leads to a guest bedroom in a beach house, a broken excuse turning a tongue as Supergirl breaks into the skies hours later. And an empty office, most nights where work isn't necessary and cluttering up their minds and fingers--most nights it does--is all of the excuse they need.

Eventually, Cat becomes bolder and Kara does, as well, and she forgets what James ever could have tasted like when all she can remember is the way the sun sets on hips and curling fingers.

Catherine is such a different facet of Kara’s life, soon, that it almost feels like a third identity--like both of them transform into something else entirely--but this life feels like more of a truth than any other lie she’s ever told and it makes it easier to ignore the churning curl in her stomach when Cat so casually drops hinting comments about James’ lingering gaze like it’s something Kara should want in the first place.

Like it’s something this arrangement will never be.

“It’s just sex, Kara.” Cat insists, stomach slick with sweat that isn’t just her own, their eyes meeting as hands curve around a cheek--push into hair--an indentation of glasses finding purchase in a neck as Kara’s tongue smooths over a pulse.

It’d be easier to believe if they didn’t spend afternoons at work, clothed and calm, beside each other. If at the nights when they weren’t breathless they shared stories of their childhoods--of their wants and dreams in casual conversation and quotes and familiarity.

If Kara didn’t know what Cat was like when she laughed like someone wasn’t watching.

If Kara didn't know Cat looks at CatCo sometimes in the morning and wonders why she's walking into the building, at all.

It’s been two months of this when Cat claims it and Kara pulls back, a Supersuit hidden on top of the roof and an ear piece stuffed in a coat pocket draped over the back of a chair. It’s Cat’s bed where she insists against luxury sheets, a weekend where a teenager won’t find them. A weekend they’ll spend together like old friends and lovers if the world will let them without burning it down.

It's only ever Cat who's saying it's all about the sex.

Fingers curl in the nape of her neck, a moan buried in the heavens.

“Are you so sure about that, Catherine?” Kara asks, voice husking and sincere--quiet--in an ear as fingers slide inside. As she pushes up and pulls Cat closer like she’s painted every inch of her with a quivering tongue because she has.

Their eyes meet, dark and open, and even Cat couldn’t hope to hide the hint of vulnerability there, kissing her, instead. Kissing her until Kara might forget the question, at all, arching up against a hand, fingers scratching down a bed-post like she's trying to carve her name into a tree.

But she doesn't forget. Neither of them do. And it settles between them like smoke--untouchable and thick, sticking to the walls of almost-human lungs.

“Stop acting like you can do serious or long-term, Kara.” Cat whispers afterwards, voice thick and eyes settled over her shoulder. Kara’s fingers stop halfway through the name she was tracing along a hip in Kryptonian, raising to skim along her cheek--dipping down to a chin to almost reverently tuck it up--searching eyes. Steel and fire and something indescribably human.  Something Kara will never be. “You set the parameters for this.”

“Maybe you’re right.” A dusty swallow. She has to wipe the faintest fog from her glasses before righting them on her nose and when she does Cat’s fingers tangle along the rims. Somewhere in the distance, she hears a siren and her heart catches in her throat--drops down to her stomach like she’s plummeting from the highest floor of Catco towards the ground without wings to guide her--and when her entire body visibly tenses, the woman underneath her pauses, but doesn’t move her hands.

Kara shakes as her hands slowly raise to curve around wrists, the pulse a familiar beat underneath her fingers but, for once, they don’t calm the quiver of her lips.

“But I never said this was just sex to me, Catherine.” Boldly in a way she doesn’t feel, like her suit isn’t hidden on the roof like a secret, she leans down further into fingers--into a possibility of a woman pulling off her mask for a second time, but this time not with a questions--voice barely above a whisper, “This isn’t just sex to me.”

The sirens get louder in the back of her mind--an ear always turned to the city--but she doesn’t move away from the breath gently rocking against her lips like a receding tide.

A look she’ll never understand--might never know Cat well enough to understand--crumples like a piece of wordless paper on fire on Cat’s features and when the other woman drops her hands, Kara rolls away, knees tucking on the edge of the bed, swallowing down the tightness of her throat. Cat makes short work of wrapping a soft robe around her form, however elegant the movements are, slowly undoing earrings as she walks over to a coat, wordlessly patting it.

“I understand, Cat.” Kara breathes, voice quaking at the edges in a way she’ll never help, slowly coming behind a familiar form, coming close enough to touch her. But just as Cat’s hands had fallen, so do Kara’s, a boundary not crossed. “I do.” She shakes her head, voice resolute, “But I’m not giving up on you.”

“Oh, Kara,” It’s a tsk, a hint of sadness curving the sharp resolution, a profile visible as Cat barely turns towards her, unmoving as a taller figure slowly slides off of the bed, bare feet lightly falling behind her. “You’re as naive as ever.” Fingers tie knots in a robe, pushing open her bathroom door. “Hopeful and...young. I’ll see you Monday, bright and early.”

“7:05 AM.” Kara murmurs, eyes finding the floor, brows forming a crease--the smallest dimple that Cat’s traced with a thumb time and time, again. She can feel Cat’s eyes on her and when she finds the resolution to raise a chin, Cat nods, smile a little more genuine.

A hand cups a cheek and Kara leans into it, a sigh lost from her lips against the curve of a palm.

“7:05 AM.” Cat agrees, stepping forward to gently brush lips along her own, breath caught in the soft gesture. “If you want traditional and simple, Kara, you know where to go.” Her fingers along a coat and before Cat can pull away entirely like she always does, superhuman arms wrap around a waist, gently molding a naked body against soft silk and familiarity. A war-weathered hand, scars invisible underneath pale skin, skims up to dip back to nape of the robe--to gently brush lips along a faint mark along a neck--to uncover the lines of a shoulder, kissing an apology along the slope of it.

Cat visibly tenses before she lets out a simmering breath through her nose, the tension holding the steel of a back melting away with it.

“I’m sorry, Cat.” Her nose brushes along an ear, swallow clear in her throat, glasses covered in hair, hand moving up from a smooth shoulder to a neck, thumb sliding along a bobbing, hidden Adam’s apple, making its way up to cup a cheek as it buries itself in hair and warmth. “For pushing. I don't mean to push.”

Cat leans back into her, fingers tangling with a free hand, the faintest feeling of metal sliding against her knuckles, their mouths meeting in a much softer kiss, dangerous and consuming.

“I know,” Noses brush and Kara has to resist the urge to bury herself in a neck like she'd buried her hand, a pen-calloused hand patting their tangled fingers again before they unravel like frayed knots. Cat closes the bathroom door in finality and Kara sighs as she memorizes the wood grain of it, feeling far heavier than she did when she came in even without a Supersuit as she dresses, her quiet goodnight responded to in silence before she flies into the night air.

Kara’s never spent the night--especially not in Cat’s bed--and it doesn’t seem likely anytime soon.

And maybe Cat’s right. Maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe it couldn’t be.

It isn’t until after she’s stopped another robbery, heels kicked up on her sister’s table because her apartment had felt far too empty, that her hands slide into a pocket, brows knitting at something unfamiliar and sharp.

She holds it up to the light, watching as cheap fluorescent highlights from her sister's grandfathered apartment dance lights off an emerald, a single earring having unknowingly found its home in her pocket.

Brows knit.

“What is it?” Alex’s groggy voice calls from the kitchen, still half-asleep from her sister’s uninvited visit but undettered, eyebrows raising as she comes closer.

And then realization settles.

“I think…” Kara can’t help the choking laugh in her throat. “I think it might be a gift from a friend.”

Alex looking at her like she has three-heads doesn’t deter the smile.

Three days later she explains the same thing she had explained to Cat months ago to James, hand smoothing along her friend’s shoulder in sympathy, unable to help the smile on her lips when he hugs her.

“You’re family, James.” Kara promises in his ear, holding him close--finding a piece of herself buried here, finding it how she finds most pieces of herself scattered along this balcony, with a wayward, bittersweet smile and hope on her breath--pulling away to kiss his cheek, “To me and to Kal-El. I’ve lost enough people,” She admits, “I didn’t want to lose you, too.”

Knowing hands squeeze elbows--hold as tightly as he can--before he pulls away with kind eyes and a wide smile, at least taking the disappointment far better than Winn had.

“You won’t lose me.” He promises and Kara laughs lighter than she has with him in months a few minutes later--lighter than when they’d lost a son of Krypton in a pod, still lost in the city, somewhere to be found--lighter than before Kelly found her end on asphalt and she’d lost herself against his lips for a small, weak moment of selfishness. 

They laugh like old friends should--like how Cat and her do in the early mornings over coffee and paperwork, not nearly as many heavy words between them--and when Kara pulls away, she sees Cat watching them. Sees Cat’s curious tip of her head and the faraway, almost bittersweet tip of a smile.

And maybe Kara is reading into it, but it looks almost like Cat wants her to be happy outside of the hidden moments by the copier--the trysts in beds and on furniture and the occasional shower--and it takes her breath away.

So when Kara crosses the distance into a familiar office, the sun shining along an unwrinkled pantsuit, highlighting the soft of eyelashes and the sculpt of a quirked brow, she wordlessly sets a singular earring in Cat’s palm, gently curling up familiar fingers to hold it, it’s impossible not to smiles back.

It’s rare she’s so open or bold amidst so many people, but her shoulders feel light and her smile is kind--soft--a wisp of hair falling in front of her eyes from a ponytail she hadn’t loosened tight enough, this morning.

“You won’t lose me to James, Cat.”

It’s all she says--all she needs to say--Cat visibly stricken before her posture straightens, opening a desk and dropping the earring in it, palm flattening over the surface as dark eyes slowly track their way up Kara's form to settle on honest blue eyes. Or at least, Kara thinks it’s all she needs to say, because it doesn’t quite convey the suffocating feeling in her chest, a vacuum that can’t hold fire. So she tries again.

“Catherine.” She repeats, leaning a little over the desk, voice only loud enough for a lover to hear--for a friend to understand--letting go of the hand, a promise thick on her throat:

“I promise. I promise, as long as I’m here, you won’t lose me, at all.”

There's a click of a pen as Cat releases it, leaning back in her chair, chin tipping back. The smallest smile barely curls up the edges of lips, but it's the eyes--it's always Cat's eyes--that shine with a hint of something far warmer. 

Kara smiles, hand reaching up unbidden to a necklace, fingers curling around the length of it. It's the most comforting notion she knows how to offer another person--the only thought that pushed her through decades of her life--standing taller than she ever has in this office, even underneath the weight of a crest in a brazen flash of blue and red. "I'll always be right here, Cat." 

Cat blinks but doesn't turn a way for a moment that will be seared into Kara's mind for the rest of eternity, sun highlighting blonde locks like it's an intimate embrace--dark eyes full of life and, clear as the daylight between them, hope.

The spell isn't broken when Cat looks down, pen once more clicking as she gets back to work, a woman who usually only has minutes to spare and moments to think. "I appreciate the very random, uncalled for sentiment, but we have work to do." Kara nods, smile bright as she turns around, hand not falling from a small necklace as the light glints off of a hint of gold about her wrist, nearly to the edge of the office when Cat stops her, "And Kara?" 

She pauses--turns around in time to watch Cat gently undo the bracelet from her wrist, setting it aside at the edge of her desk and blue eyes settle on it, realization settling that it will be right there for her to find. 

"Thank you." 

"Always, Catherine." Kara promises, turning back on her heel, tugging out a small, white sheet of paper from her pocket to write down a rule far down the page. 

_Always._

**But in Journalism, 'personal' can be your best way in. 'Personal' can be your best asset...or worst downfall. So never rely on 'personal' unless you're willing to accept the consequences of your conflict of interest on behalf of you, your source, and the city that relies on you.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kryptonian Translations, Mythos, and other DC shenanigans** Source(s)  
> [Language](http://kryptonian.info/doyle/dictionary.html)  
> [Bestiary: Lumir](http://mindmistress.tumblr.com/post/133295117568/lumir)
> 
> ** **Lumir** (Kryptonian Animal): Fauna. A six-legged animal, with two arms in addition, with long ears and a green and blue speckled skin, that was perfectly safe for young toddlers to play with. Existed in Argo City, and presumably, the rest of Krypton."
> 
> ** **Thrib** : Kryptonian "second"; equal to 1/100th of a /dendahr/ (a Kryptonian minute); roughly equal to an Earth second. **noun** P: [θɹib]; Kryptonian: Trib


	4. Trust.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're right. I am hiding a pretty big part of myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is particularly long due to some random science in the middle (what). I was going to break it into two separate chapters until I realized I likely won't have time to update next week, so I'll just leave this as is. Hopefully I will have the time but, eh, this chapter came hella early to make up for it.
> 
> There's no Kryptonian translations/anything of the like for this chapter.
> 
> Please feel free to let me know what you think/what's going on in your brains! :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading

**Rule #41. Trust. Your. Instincts.**

It’s afternoon on a Friday, the familiar white noise of CatCo’s scrambling, ever busy journalists and crew working to wrap up deadlines and loose ends before the week’s end. Regardless of their effort, half of the staff will likely filter in on a Saturday, something unresolved needing to become the resolvable before Cat Grant sees their employment to an end, but for now there’s still hope bustling the halls. Hope that everything can be wrapped up with a hint of excitement on chattering tongues for various plans and activities.

Kara happily multi-tasks, listening to Brad and Violet from downstairs argue about the semantics of water cooler talk like something out of a _Seinfeld_  skit (Is it water cooler talk if we're not by a water cooler? Is the water bottle the modern-day water cooler? When did water coolers become obsolete? What would you do if you didn't want cold water, anyways? I happen to like my water tepid, Vi! How about that?) over finishing their reports for the design board as she nips at a muffin, crossing out a wayward word on the barely-edited document in her lap. She’s found a sense of familiarity on a couch that she’s cleaned in the dark hours of the morning more than once, settling into it in companionable silence as her boss pushes around a salad, a battlefield of greens that have been picked solely of their meat, the rest of the salad’s fate unclear.

It's easy to become engrossed in the article she’s reading when practically ever sentence needs review, sighing as impatient fingers cross out yet another thing that needs to be fact-checked, when she catches the sight of Cat out of the corner of her eye. It’s been nearly five months and the faintest red creeps up a neck at the sight of that unfaltering gaze, fingers hesitantly moving up to shift glasses on her nose.

When Cat continues to stare, Kara turns around to look in the nearby glass surrounding them, pretty sure she must have a piece of muffin up her nose, or something. “Do I--”

“You really never had any ulterior motives did you, Kara? There isn’t a single intentionally cruel bone in your body.” There’s a hint of calm reverie in Cat’s voice--something that’s unusual in such broad daylight and only makes Kara shift more, lips parting to question before her boss continues on: “Never took any opportunity to lower someone else in order to raise yourself higher. Never had a secret agenda in your back pocket.”

“I...what?” Brows knit. Normally she's used to dealing with things out of right field (or was it left? She still really doesn't care about baseball) but this is a little different.

“Climbing the ladder.” 'The corporate game of Life' as Cat usually calls it, humming, piercing another piece of greenery, but this time actually eating it. The faith doesn’t sit right on Kara’s chest. It's like a heavy weight because out of everyone in her life, Cat is the only one she's tossed off of a balcony and should really know better.

“I...did, once.” Kara vaguely alludes, a hint of hurt clouding the back of her throat like smog from a fire. “I felt…” A wave of her hand, explaining before Cat could even hope to think it might revolve around her, because that’s where an assistant’s priorities lay, these days, spilled chess pieces on the black and white board of a game she never learned how to play, “With...Siobahn. It was horrible. I can assure you, Ms. Grant, that person…” Her voice trails off, fingers clenching in the fabric about her knees before she straightens, tone even regardless of the quiet nature of it, article shifting in her lap, “That person is in me somewhere. But I learned from you that if you have to push someone down to get to their level, you’re never at the level you should be.”

Cat hums, thoughtful, still searching her face across the small distance, like Kara’s small speech hasn’t deterred the track of her mind in the least.

“Always rise higher than the people you surround yourself with. Well of course you were forward with Siobahn.” It’s said like nothing can get past her--like fingers are snapping, insistent, before Kara’s eyes--but Cat just leans back in her chair, “Come.” Ever obedient, she does, trying not to associate that command with late nights and early mornings and something in-betweens, slowly moving over to the seat in front of a long desk like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. On her head. “I meant with me. Snapper. The board leaders but most importantly I was mostly talking about your intelligent, stunning CEO. You only ever sought to help me, didn’t you.” It’s more a statement than a question and suddenly Kara has no idea what to do with this.

“I--well I,” A throat clears, fingers raising up to tilt and stabilize glasses, Cat reaching across to halt the motion when she’s curled fingers about the rim. “Of...course I did, Cat. That’s my job.” A moment passes between them, a slow breath unwinding the tense coil of her shoulders, allowing the slimmest smile to spread, “Besides, helping’s...kind of my thing. Not…”

“Not just for me.” Something goes unsaid between them but Cat’s hand doesn’t fall from her wrist. “I know you did. Well, I’ve always known you did--just wanted to help. Noble, really. Heroic.” The word ends in a sharp _k_ that lingers on the edges of white teeth in a way a hero might find endless purchase in. “That’s something I’ve just...come to accept. Maybe take for granted. Your...good nature.”

Kara shifts, again, and isn’t sure why her chest feels so tight--like there isn’t enough room to breathe with quite so many layers of clothing on.  

“I...appreciate the recognition?” A hint of a laugh, pulling her hand free in favor of bringing arms in tighter to sides, fingers lacing in a lap, warmer than an article but still cooler than they’re used to being, these days. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m just not...I’m not sure what your point is, Ms. Grant.”

“In a rare turn of events, Kara.” Cat murmurs, gaze intense but something familiar and dangerous behind them--something that Kara wants to rest a shaking hand against and find familiarity in, “I don’t have one. Save for the long overdue idea of thanking you for being such an ever-faithful companion, the past two years or so.”

“Oh.” It’s a breath and despite herself--despite the look in Cat’s eyes and the fact that her employer _always_ has a point, even when she’s not making one--her smile spreads, something like anxious optimism lifting her shoulders. The sight of the relief seems to only pull Cat closer, patting a knee as she rounds the desk. “Thank you, Cat.”

“You don’t need to thank someone for thanking you, Kara.” Cat moves towards the window, grabbing her glass as she goes. Water, today. "It's overkill."

“I think I do, in...this case.” Kara slowly comes behind her, shoulders imperceptibly straightening, listening to the way breath hitches--watching the way the reflection catches downturned eyes like a child playing in rain that’s starting to clear. There’s a hint of bittersweet revelry in it that prompts the forced lightness in her voice, and Kara’s hands raise just like that child, aching to catch it, fingers gently smoothing along shoulders like they aren’t in a vault of glass. Just for a moment before they drop. “Wait, you’re not firing me, right? Because that would be the,” A laugh, “Opposite of--” A sinking feeling of dread. “...you’re _not_ firing me, right?”

“Oh, Kara.” Cat laughs, turning around, catching her hands as she does, raising eyebrows. “No. Not unless you’ve done something stupid to give me reason to, is there?”

“Not me. I’m absolutely innocent.” Her hands raise in defense, though her smile spreads at the sound of that familiar, faint laugh. “If you _were_ firing me, I’d hope you would do it _before_ I bought you lunch b--”

“Stop worrying about your job.” Tone drawling in a way that Kara can only _hope_ is a tease: “For today, anyways. I just arrived at a decision, is all.”

“Right.” Kara laughs, a hint of nerves curling around the rumbling noise, “And I’m...never going to learn what decision that is. Okay, then. Well...then, thank you, Ms. Grant.” She straightens herself a little, moving back over to the discarded article, “It’s...nice to hear that I’m doing well.”

“Isn’t it?” Cat mysteriously hums, walking out of the desk before Kara can do anything but sink back down into a couch with a muffin and an article, trying not to cross the whole thing out.

It’s a wayward siren that pulls her from the couch, a kidnapper stopped and a girl returned safely home, and when she comes back to her desk she’s humming with something that should be excitement.

Until Cat starts shoving the few belongings she’s allowed to have on her desk (A CatCo rule, not a Cat Grant specific one) into a banker’s box, Kara stumbling in heels after her, pleading her case towards (for? against? between?) whatever it is she’s done this time, breathless for a woman that doesn’t need all that much air.

“B-But--I thought you said _no_ about the fir…” They’re suddenly in an office, Cat dropping the box on a desk. “...ing?”

“I’m not firing you.” Cat says simply, hip cocked like the ever-ready gun that it is, eyebrows raised. Kara sees her drop something into the box, catching the afternoon rays of sun from closed blinds--and all she can do is blink. "I'm promoting you."

"Promoting...?"

A speech follows, something Cat Grant is good at and Kara Danvers never gets tired of hearing, and the younger girl slowly sinks onto wood, swallowing the rough sandpaper of her throat once it settles on her shoulders.

The end of _working girl_ makes her cry, and so does every other movie where she gains something, but feels like she’s losing a little bit of something, too. The distance is crossed and Kara’s breath quivers--quakes--looking around a wide cavern of...white. Suddenly she feels like there's too much of it.

“I think it's time I told you something I don't think you understand." A nod, like Cat Grant is unveiling the mysteries of the universe to her protege lover. "I didn’t hire you because you were average, Kara.” Cat's searching the landscape of her face like oceans hide buried treasure in their depths. “I hired you because you pretended to be.”

“What?” A faint hint of a confused breath--an almost disbelieving, laughing noise--brows knitting.  

“Sure, you gave me this whole...weird, entirely unnecessary speech about being ordinary when you came into my office and I didn’t believe you for a second. I found it fascinating. _Honestly_ ,” A hand waves in gesture, “I told myself I hired you on a whim, but I’ve founded an empire on one steadfast rule: ‘Trust. Your. Instincts.’ And I knew there was something special about you. I felt it. I was right.” A thoughtful hum: “Otherwise, you never would have lasted here after that first day. It wasn’t a whim.”

Outrageously, Kara notes on the cusp of a promotion--maybe the muffin from earlier wasn’t enough and she wants to taste her own feet, too:

“I...you’ve told me practically every day I’ve been here that I’m replaceable. Well, save for today.”

Cat’s eyes flick up, arms crossing. “Your job _is_ replaceable.”

“My job.” Kara quietly catches on--dangerous and bold--notes. “Not me.”

Cat doesn’t answer--doesn’t encourage or refute--and that’s enough of an answer for a very surprised, pleased Kara, unable to help the almost giddy feeling in her chest.

“Don’t look so happy with yourself.” Cat seems to notice but she doesn’t sound nearly as annoyed as she might any other day. “Or do. You are being promoted. Of course _you’re_ not replaceable. Why else would I hire you?” There’s a pause, Cat’s hand stilling, a hint of humor finding its way into her tone, “So you _did_ decide to go with looking pleased with yourself. If I knew you were going to smile like Macaulay Culkin at his premier for that God-awful _Party Boys_ all night I could have waited until Monday.”

“I don't think you mind that much.” Kara dutifully tries to bite her smile with a white row of teeth, but it doesn’t do much to temper it, voice upbeat and intentionally casual as she continues--as she attempts to push further into the waters, leaning over to brush their shoulders, hand coming to curl around a wrist. “I know you're busy, but I--could you stay? For just a minute.”

Eyebrows raise and Cat's smile is something close to soft. The look she gave her when a chuckling voice explained how Carter had tried to bring his entire comic collection with him to his first day of kindergarten, the sun painting lines of light along her cheeks while Kara tried to chase them with her fingertips.

“I just…” Kara beams, wide and quiet and a little breathless, “I’d like to share this moment with you, if that's okay?” A hesitant smile. One that is shared, though it's anything but hesitant as Cat leans into her, Kara's fingers tracing up to a bicep, head falling down to a shoulder as the smile spreads.

Fingers gently brush the hair from fluttering eyelashes. “That's ok with me. I guess the world can wait a couple minutes longer.”

“Everything's changing, isn't it?” It's barely a whisper on sun gently floating dust into the office.

“Change is a natural part of life. The forests grow and shrink, the polar caps melt, Tay-Tay finds another flavor of the month. And thus we grow and change and adapt with--”

“Okay, so not everything's changed.” Kara quips, eyes bright and playful.

“There's better things you can do with those new claws of yours, Dear.” Surely enough, Cat bats right back and Kara laughs despite the faintest red that still creeps up her neck. “You've changed, too. You're not that doe-eyed girl who stumbled into my office.” A sweeping gesture towards the world of possibilities in front of her but nostalgia still tinges Kara's voice. "It's a change for the better."

“I guess I have." And she has. "You know, I still can’t believe that you had me hand-deliver personalized fruit baskets that I’d assembled at 7 pm to every single member of the faculty on my first day.”

Kara can see--barely, even for eyes slitting behind dark frames--the edges of Cat’s lips quirk. “They certainly knew your face by the end of the day.”

“Or morning. I was out until 6 AM.”

Without missing a beat, seemingly nonplussed by the idea:

“That explains why you were there bright and early to give me my coffee. And you knew to be there every day after at the same time.” 

If they were closer--if Cat was Alex, snickering and teasing over a steaming mug of hot cocoa in the early hours of the morning--Kara might shove her shoulder. She might wrinkle her nose or throw a piece of toast her way, intentionally not hitting her mark out of habit (or, if she’s really annoyed at the tease, hitting between the eyes anyways). She might roll her eyes or even laugh in familiarity, but Cat Grant isn’t closer than Alex.

But she's not further, either.

She’s not a room away, the cool air settling between them like morning dew on grass, because if they had been...Kara’s might have crossed the whole world to get here in sonic booms and cascading flurries of paper.

They're somewhere in the middle-- they're somewhere together, now--and Kara shakes her head, settling back against the desk. She feels the moments change and pass and watches Cat--who’s never been anything _but_ settled, anywhere she goes--trickle nails along a desk like rainfall with her free hand. 

"SevenO’-Five A. M.” Kara murmurs.

“Seven O’-Five A.M.” Cat agrees, their eyes meeting, a faint--almost mythical--smile shared between them before the older woman gently leans off the desk, her time likely up for anything but large decisions and corporate takeovers of other mags. “This had nothing to do with us, Kara. The promotion.” It's gentle, a hand quietly moving up to skim along a cheek, earlier speech still hanging in the air between them. “You've earned this.”

"Thank you." Maybe against the point, Kara kisses a palm, gratitude clear in her gaze, but Cat doesn't seem disturbed. “Three days to decide my fate, right?” She repeats the earlier ultimatum.

“After Monday. I'll be counting the hours.” 

That's sure to be literal, knowing Catherine.

Kara, bold and delirious and far too friendly, tugs Cat closer by a wrist, but instead of catching her lips, she just...holds her, nose falling into a neck, a little tighter than she should. A little tighter than she ever has, as Kara. She's something more, in this moment, than a meek assistant--something closer to a strong continued presence than just a lover--the faintest hint of ink and perfume in the back of her throat. A knowing hand cups her shoulder and she hears the faintest kick up of a heartbeat...and smiles.

“I'll see you tomorrow for Carter. Unless I can...convince you to come to game night, tonight?”

Cat scoffs as she pulls away but there's still a smile tucking up warm lips, waving a single hand over her shoulder in gesture as the queen gets back to her castle.

“Don't push your luck!”

Her Working Girl moment. Can it be that simple? Cat would say Carpe Diem.

Kara’s phone is out in an instant, hopping back on a desk--her desk--heel bopping in tune with a silent, happy beat (as it will for the rest of the night) already debating where they'll celebrate as a phone finds its way immediately to her ear. She doesn't wait until Alex greets her before Kara slams open the blinds, beaming, fishing out a necklace from a banker's box to watch it hang from her palm underneath the warm afternoon sun.

“Guess where I am?”

She doesn't need super hearing to guess that when her sister pulls away the phone, a disbelieving obscenity is soon bouncing off of the DEO’s cool walls, somewhere in the cells a Daxamite curiously looking up at the ceiling, wondering what wraith ghouls haunt this planet.

\--

**Rule #42. Cat Grant Quote #2: “Knowledge is useless if not shared, but dangerous if shared with the wrong people. I know I've stated that you’re only as good as who you publish with, and that's true…**

It’s not unusual for Cat to stay behind on a Saturday, but it is unusual, nowadays, for her to have so much passing interest in Carter’s study sessions. Dark eyes have mysteriously appeared every few hours around the corner of a wall and Kara isn't sure if it's to check on Carter or her.

Mainly, she's not sure why Cat is suddenly so interested, at all.

“So...what you’re saying is that my teacher is wrong?”

“Your teacher is definitely wrong. Trust me, I have _seen_ black holes…” Kara pauses, “Documentaries. So many black hole documentaries. I even had a really...really large lecture from Martin Stein at the start of this year.” It really wasn't as much of a lecture as it was a series of very pointed, fascinated questions about planets outside of Earth.

Kara was actually kind of lecturing the professor, really. Until she found out he’d encountered a singularity firsthand just the year before with Barry and, knowing Alex wouldn’t let her live it down if she didn’t find out the details, had tried to listen as intently as she could to a very nice, very erratic, very...scientific Martin Stein.

For three hours.

She listened for about twenty minutes before she gave up, politely nodding and interjecting a fascinated sound every couple of minutes like she's listening to Winn rant about _Clone Wars_ or Eliza about genome structures.

“Martin Stein?” Carter’s head tips in curiosity and Kara waves a hand.

“Big...science guy.”

“Like Bill Nye? That guy on Netflix?” Carter asks, casual, fingers drawing endless circles on notebook paper that should be littered with notes. But Kara can’t blame him. All of her notes, to this day, are lined with sketches to keep jittery hands as busy as a wandering mind. Even her rule books are more sketch than rule.

When did Bill Nye get a Netflix show? Man, her and Alex really need to get their Netflix on. She's finding less and less free time these days between a crest and dark eyes.

“...Kind of. I guess.” She settles on, shrugging. “Anyways, yes. Your teacher’s definitely wrong. There _is_ a possibility that you could traverse a black hole, but she is right about there not being any way to escape an Event Horizon.”

“Because it sucks you in?” Carter’s ears pick up again, now that they’re back on the part of the subject he recognizes, covered last week over donuts and Alex's factual tone on the other end of the phone.

But Alex is a little too busy running tests on the Daxamite and Carter...well, space, at least, Kara knows well.

“Right. It’s pretty scary, but fascinating, too. Like...if you were to cross this line--” She draws a series of circles within each other on the page next to Carter’s doodle, each circle a little darker and smaller than the last before she draws the smallest circle, filling it with black. She draws lines from the edge of the dark circumference out to the final circumference of the largest circle, an odd telescope-like shape on the page. “Imagine this is the singularity and it’s sucking all of the force outside of it into it. That includes light...matter...power...cows. Everything.”

“Like how we talked about.” Carter nods, leaning over the page, elbows barely smearing faint pencil lines. “Because black holes are like giant vacuums in space--”

“Vacuum like...absorbing and pulling everything into it via gravity, not vacuum like--”

“Like the endless, imperfect vacuum of space.” Carter quotes verbatim. Probably because Alex had drilled it into him every time he misused the word. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Right. Good job, Carter.” She squeezes his shoulder, a small, sheepish smile her reward. “So imagine everything is being pulled into this point. The singularity at the center of the black hole. Which means more and more energy is in each of these circles…” It’s overly simplified in a way she’s sure Alex could explain easier, but Carter nods, Kara’s finger tracing along the darkest black line before the hole in front of it. “Well after a certain point, you would need to be able to _create_ so much energy in order to get past _this_ point here, because there’s so much energy going against you, that it would be impossible. Nothing could go that fast.”

“I bet Supergirl could.” Carter’s nose scrunches and Kara can’t help the small smile, a hint of a laugh on her tongue. She catches Cat's eyes once more around the corner, a hint of amusement there, this time watching as she clicks off her phone and crosses arms, watching from the threshold.

“I don’t know, buddy. The fastest thing Earth--” She adjusts her glasses, “--knows of, because maybe someone else out there knows other...things. But we don’t. And we haven’t met them, yet.” A cleared throat, tapping the page, “The fastest thing _we_ know,” She rectifies, “Is light. And Supergirl can go faster than light, sure...but in order to go fast enough to get past this point--the Event Horizon, where there’s no turning back--the force of it might...you know.” Kara tries to think of a nice way to word it, but can’t, “...split her in two?”

“Ouch.”

“Tell me about it.” It’s not exactly a thought she wants to think of. Especially since anyone who goes _into_ the singularity is likely to have the same happen to them. Even the girl of steel. Probably. She doesn’t plan on finding out. Jumping into a black hole is not in her bucket list. “But even Supergirl can’t get past this point, because she might not be able to generate enough force to go against what's pulling her in. Think of it like someone trying to hold a door closed in front of you. If it was _me_ ...I bet you could push me away. But if _that_ was Supergirl? Sorry, Cart.” Her eyes are a little lighter and young eyes meet hers with a cock-eyed grin, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.

“I could generate enough force for you. But not for Supergirl. So Supergirl could get out of the black hole before she got to here, but if she got sucked in past this point…”

“No getting out.”   

“Sooo...if you can’t get out of it...what’d you mean by traverse it?” He hops back in his chair with a hum and a curious look that reminds her far too much of his mother, sometimes, Kara thoughtlessly straightening her shoulders like she’s being interviewed.

“Well, it’s only theoretical, but you…” She leans over and plucks up a small piece pencil, wiggling it in her fingers in a way that makes both Grants roll their eyes, “You know when you have a bottle of water and you spin it, when you stop the bottle, everything inside of it is still spinning?” Carter nods, the demonstration clear. “Well there’s a...theory,” It takes her a few moments to remember the Earth name, writing a few mathematical formulas down on the sheet in Kryptonian before scratching it out feverishly, shaking her head. She can't remember. Karen? That can't be right. “Anyways, there’s a theory that black holes are constantly spinning and, because of this...there’s essentially this _ring_ \--a ring singularity--inside of it.”

“But...why?”

“Well...are you sure you want to know?” Kara leans back in her chair, eyebrows rising, “None of this will be on your test.”

“Yeah.” But he’s curious--fascinated--the same way Alex used to be when Kara explained physics in space to her, and Kara can’t help the nostalgia that grips at her chest, leaning forward. She tips the pencil forward, balancing it on its lead.

“Well, when a star collapses, which…”

“Creates a wormhole.” Carter fills in, Kara smiling at him.

“Right. Well, under general relativity, when a spherical, non-rotating body of a critical radius collapses (meaning it's not moving) under its own gravitation--like if this pencil was to collapse down into itself--the theory is that it will collapse to a single point. Because it’s not moving, it doesn’t have any momentum. It has nowhere else to collapse, so it’s going to collapse down to its...tip. This lead.”

“Okay.” Carter nods and Kara tips the pencil, circling it with her thumb.”You mean it'd collapse down in a straight line?”

“Right. But Black holes are rotating, so when they collapse--” She draws an oval with the pencil before setting it back in the center, tapping the top of an eraser. “They collapse and the way the inside sort of...distributes--like that water in the water bottle?--it’s more like a sphere. So inside of a black hole, there would be this sort of...ring. It wouldn't be a single point, it would collapse into a ring. And because of that, the event horizon would be a ring inside the black hole, not a circle.” She goes back to her original drawing, pointing at the straight lines dragging up from the dark mass in the middle out to the outer rings. And then, around the darkest circle, draws an oval around it. “So if someone were to go into a blackhole like this, they might be able to avoid the singularity pulling them in because they’d be outside that pull.” A tipped head, “Kind of. See how the force of pull has two curves around it because its a ring?”

“Woah.” Carter blinks, looking down. “But...what would happen to them? If someone were to...you know. Try to go around the ring instead of going past it?”

“No one knows. I definitely don’t.”

“Well, I guess if you did you wouldn’t be my mom’s assistant.” Carter laughs a little--not a sharp jibe, but an almost familiar quip--and Kara smiles.

“I still might.” After all, she still does. The knowledge--her heritage--might be rusty and buried deep in the back of her mind, but normal, ordinary, regular Kara Danvers can’t see herself anywhere else in the world. Only, now she has to. In five days she will be. “Some people think that, since time is relative and...kind of weird? That if you were to go through this ring, it might shoot you into another dimension. Or another time.”

“Woah.” Carter repeats, looking down at the small little squiggles like they hold the same adventures pages upon pages of books had for her when she was young and Kara leans back in her chair, smiling at it, gently setting down the pencil and wiping smudges of lead from her fingers. “You know,” He starts, almost a little hesitant, bashful, as eyes raise up from the page to greet her. “I don’t know why you always make Alex explain this stuff to me.”

The question makes her chest a little tighter than it should and Kara smiles through it, but she hears Cat shift--reminds herself that Cat is leaning against the opening of the kitchen--hears the way her arms cross as fabric rustles--and knows older eyes can see right through her attempt at a smile. Hopefully, younger eyes can’t.

“Trust me, she’s way better at the science stuff than I am.” She pats his shoulder, “And actually likes it.”

“Well,” Carter shrugs a shoulder underneath a palm like it doesn’t make a difference to him, but blue watches the small gesture not quite raise as much as it would have an hour ago, eyes focused back on his study guide. “Whatever. Don’t worry. I guess you can still teach me math.”

Kara looks towards the doorway, meeting Cat’s eyes, knowing it doesn't quite reach, muscles in her lower back tightening when Cat doesn’t look away--doesn’t stop curiously searching her face for answers like how Carter had searched blank pages of a study guide--and breath quivers from lips when she forces her gaze back down to a blank sheet.

“Thanks, Carter. Come on, let’s go onto the next one.” 

The dishes clink as Kara calmly works a rag around them, drying moisture and suds off of porcelain and nails when she hears Cat lean against the doorway, again. 

Her voice is even--measured--like how it used to be on a balcony when she first drew lines on concrete between Supergirl all while simultaneously getting the hero to stumble over them.

“If I’d known my assistant was suddenly an expert on NASA when I hired her, I’m sure I would have wondered why she was bothering to fetch me glasses of water--I know, a very exciting, engaging task when you get to speak with _me_ at the end of it.” A husking voice tickles a shiver down the ridge of her ear and Kara can't help but lean back into it, listening to the sound of Carter pack upstairs. Lenny Fontaine’s house, tonight. It means Cat will be spending the night in the apartment once Carter's gone. “But not a very good use of her talents.”

“I’m not interested in Space.” In what she’s lost--where she’s from and can never go, again--of all the planet’s she’s visited. She can still taste the cinnamon on her tongue in her dreams just as well as she can imagine who Kal-El would have been mated to, at home. What his wedding would be like. But it feels far more warm to imagine him smiling at Lois, smile creasing the corners of his eyes--it feels more like home than a vacuum she’d floated in for decades.

Although sometimes she traces the stars like maps with her fingers and misses it, it isn’t a hobby. It’s something she’s lost.

It's something she loves, too.

“I mean, I'm interested...but not for a career.” Kara settles on, sincere. Like a lost love. An old flame. A really, really painful breakup. Not that she's had a lot of those, but she's heard things.

Mainly from a mixture of Alex, Disney tv movies, and books.

“You know a lot about it for someone not interested in it.”

“I grew up with a family of scientists, Cat.” There's a hint of laughter, now, because that part is hardly a secret. Continuing to wash and dry, thankful for the company. It's not the first time they've done this routine, either. “My sister dragged me to science conventions...well, okay, she’s _still_ trying to drag me to science conventions. My adoptive mother is a bio-engineer, my adopted father was a brilliant mathematician and scientist. Though I...actually don’t really know _what_ he did,” Kara admits, “And Alex, while also a Bio-Engineer, is a _pretty_ big space buff in general. What I was interested in,” A smile--more genuine than the one they’d shared an hour earlier, fingers smoothing out the inside of a bowl, water soaking a towel as she wrings it out and sets it back in its place. “And still am, is learning from the legendary Cat Grant.”

“My point is that you’re hiding who you are, Kara.” Cat’s ever to the point and Kara visibly freezes, breath catching painfully in her chest.

“What? I--I don’t--” A hint of a fake laugh, focusing on the bowl for a couple of seconds so that she doesn't break it while setting it down before she looks up, anxiousness curling down the edges of her lips, “I’m not--I don’t know what you mean, Cat.”

“I mean exactly what I said, Kara.” And somehow it's different from yesterday. From a bright conversation in an office, light and simple, and she's not sure what changed. “In the past few months, all of my assumptions about you have been proven correct.” Kara doesn’t have a chance to ask what exactly those assumptions _are_ , picking back up the towel so that she has something to do with fingers that won’t prune no matter how long she leaves them in scalding hot water. “What I don’t understand, is why you would possibly shove all of that down. Hide your intellect from the world.”

“My...my intellect?” Kara asks, confusion settling in place of panic, towel slackening in her grip. A hint of relief showcased in a heavy breath. “Oh. Thank--I mean. Oh. You’re talking about my intellect.”

“Of course I am. I understand the need to climb the corporate ladder, Kara. We all have to. I certainly did. What I don’t understand--” Cat steps closer, eyes slitting, “Is why you feel the need to do it with only half of your guns loaded. Success takes everything you have, Kara. You have to grab it with both hands, not _hide_ it. And even after I've given you a promotion--a chance--you’re hesitating to take what you want.”

“I’m...I don’t--” Kara watches the way the recessed lighting catches the necklace she'd slyly slid back into Cat's palms when she first arrived at lunch because it's far easier, avoiding that knowing stare.

“Ordinary, plain, _humble_ Kara Danvers.” It sounds almost like a quote the way it leaves Cat’s lips, eyes still slit, “Why would you hide yourself for so long?” If this is how Hillary Clinton felt when Cat interviewed her, it’s no wonder she hyperventilated and ran out of the office. But Kara’s fingers twine in a rag, steam unnoticed by either one of them from the friction of it, a chin tipping backwards. It’s the first time she’s felt protective over herself in front of Cat Grant, not like a small child who’s been caught with her hand in a cookie jar (or, given her slim childhood on this Earth, like she’s eaten the entire pantry).

Maybe it’s because Kara isn’t the only one who’s spent months memorizing the way light settles on the dips and valleys of places the rest of the world doesn’t see--places neither Kara or Cat _shows_ the world--and the sting in her chest is quickly replaced by something else.

Everything is changing.

“I _like_ my job.” She argues, chin full of lead and nostrils barely flaring. Anger, unbidden and quiet and unrecognizable sinks into her tongue and she desperately does what she can not to show it. “I love my job. I’m _good_ at my job.” She argues to the woman who gave it to her, stepping closer, voice challenging, “Well, I...was. I mean, I guess was. Good at my job. My...not my job.” Stronger--has it been five months (two and a half years?)and Cat’s just--“Just because you’re finally taking the time to notice me does _not_ mean I’m hiding anything.”

Cat Grant is not intimidated, stepping closer, voice even and indomitable.

“Why do _you_ think I hired you, Kara?”

The question only causes the anger to bat at the cage of her chest like the cutting talons of a bird desperately trying to escape--to fly--looking away for a moment as she drops the towel into the sink before she crumbles it to ash. “It doesn't matter. I proved myself to you.”

“Yes, _you_ did.” There's something about the emphasis that steals her breath.

“And _I_ was the one who applied in the first place, whether you thought I was ordinary or--”

“If that’s what you still think, I’m not the person who hasn’t taken the time to notice my surroundings.”

The statement gives Kara pause, anger stopping in its tracks for a breath as she blinks up at Cat, lips barely pursing.

“Why do you--” But she’s cut off by the familiar ping of a phone, shaking her head to clear rattling thoughts, breathing something sharp and cold through her mouth to pull away, wiping her hand on a nearby towel to clear it before reading the message. A sigh rattles her resolve. “I...I have to go. We moved game night, and James--”

“Don’t keep James waiting, Kara.” Cat hums, elegant fingers wrapping around a glass, snatching it off the counter nonchalantly, lifting it to her lips when she turns on her heel, “He won’t wait for forever for you.”

“Cat.” Kara protests, but the ever enigmatic voice is replaced by silence, lingering for a few confused moments before finishing the rest of the dishes faster than she should with eyes so close by. An almost ex-assistant stops by the edge of the doorway because she can’t leave like this--won’t--never will, following after a familiar, retreating back, watching for a few seconds as Cat so meticulously packs something for Carter off of a nearby bookshelf.

“Did you nee--”

“I’ve never regretted working for you for a minute, Cat.” Kara says simply, stepping a little closer. She doesn’t touch her--doesn’t forge the gap, especially with Carter so close--but when Cat turns to look at her, the anger has been replaced with something quiet and maybe just as strangling, but genuine. “And one of these days, ordinary or not, I’ll convince you to come to game night with me.”

Cat’s hand slackens on a tshirt, turning around to meet her, and Kara watches it--watches some of the tension ease out of her shoulders, lips shifting from taut to thin--before she scoffs, “Not likely.”

“That’s still a chance.”

“Ever the optimist.”

“You could say that.” Kara adjusts her glasses and they share a faint smile, Cat dropping a t-shirt in a bag before she nods.

“Goodnight, Kara.” A beat, “Thank you. For Carter.”

“Always glad to do it. Tell Carter bye for me? I really should...” A gesture towards her phone and another look shared--another slim smile--silence stretching in slightly more comfortable companionship before she catches familiar eyes.

“By the door.” Is all Cat offers, getting back to work folding. It's not a sight Kara has ever gotten used to--she would've thought there were just ever-present maids in their houses years ago--but Kara obediently tips back a small dish by the front door, finding a small blouse's button there. Ivory.

It's the first verbal acknowledgement of whatever ritual this is and a dusty swallow halts her steps right before the threshold, gaze searching shoulders. Cat doesn't say anything and Kara quietly tucks the button--too small to leave to chance--in a pocket next to a small picture. One more breath breaks the air and she leaves, door clicking with an ultimate finality, heading towards a room of people who love her but knowing there’s always going to be room for two more.

\--

**But the real brunt of it is that you’re only as good as who you trust.**

It’s played on repeat in her mind, when she leaves, the way Cat’s tongue had curled when she said _James_. It wasn’t malicious--she’s seen Cat Grant tear down mountains with barely the flick of a few words, before--or spiteful--she’s heard, first-hand, Lois and Cat impressively turn a simple conversation into a complex roadmap of insults and back-handed compliments--but it still sticks in the back of her mind, playing on repeat like a broken record, thumb gently rolling the weight of a button between fingertips

It was...resigned. Not in defeat, but _acceptance._ It was _acceptance_.

“Hey-o, Earth to Krypton--” Winn waves a hand full of cards in front of her face and Kara blinks, sitting up straight, fingers cupping knees as she blinks. “You’re killing me here, smalls.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, Winn.” Kara’s eyes flick over to the timer before settling back on her very, very downtrodden partner. Which is a shame, because Winn usually gets all into charades. She winces. “Don’t tell me I zoned out for the whole round.”

“I’ve been dancing around trying to get you to guess Godzilla for, like, _ohIdon'tknow_ \--” He waves the timer, “All of this.” But there’s concern mixed in with the friendly annoyance, stooping down. “You okay, there, Supergirl?”

“If you’re not, it still counts!” Alex shouts from the kitchen, but her head peeks around the corner, similarly concerned eyes settling on Kara’s shoulders. She can’t see her, but she can feel it like a warm blanket and she smiles, shaking her head.

“Yeah, yeah. Totally fine! I was just…” She waves her hand, “I just zoned out. Long day. I’m sorry.”

“You sure?” It’s James that asks this time, eyes conflicted and quiet and she reaches across the distance to squeeze his wrist.

“I’m sure. Sorry, guys--I’m in it. I’m here, now. Bring it.” She claps her hands, shifting forward, pointing towards her partner, but James catches her wrist, this time, holding up a finger.

“Hey, can we, uh--” A gesturing thumb thrusts back towards her barely-sequestered bedroom, “Talk? For a sec?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She straightens glasses. Stands and straightens a dress. Straightens her shoulder and a magazine she passes by on the way to the small corner, not missing the wincing looks her sister and best friend share over a board game. “Is everything okay?”

“That’s my line.” James notes, arms crossing as he leans against the wall, eyebrows raising. “No offense or anything, but you haven’t really been all that there today. Or...in a while. Winn is a really, _really_ bad liar. Like…” He laughs, gesturing with both hands, “Worse than you, and you’ve had _him_ covering for you at work? It's getting weird since he doesn't really work there.”

“Oh.” Kara winces a bit, slowly sliding the glasses off of her nose so that she can focus on the man in front of her, “Well...I didn’t ask him to…”

“What’s going on, Kara?” His voice is gentler--quieter--eyes flicking back towards the room before settling on her, dipping his head to come closer, crossing a bit of the gap. “Whatever it is, you know I have your back. Is it about the alien guy, because we’re gonna find hi--”

“No. It’s not--it’s…” She sighs, the weight suddenly heavier on her shoulders, dropping herself onto a squeaking bed with a sigh, “Complicated. But not bad.”

“It doesn’t have to do with…” He vaguely gestures between them and Kara shakes her head, folding the glasses and setting them in her lap. “Does it have to do with Cat? Since whenever you’re gone...” He tries again and Kara’s lips part, but no words settle on her tongue. “And...there’s the part I implied earlier about _you_ being a bad liar.”

“James…” She sighs, hands nervously settling on her glasses before the bed dips, a larger hand, warm and familiar, smoothing over her own.

“Look, okay, whatever it is.” He squeezes her hand and she looks up at him, guilt a familiar breath slowly seeping between lips. “Just follow your heart, okay? Hey, your heart,” He takes her hand and points up to a framed picture, a stolen moment in time just for her and the guilt is strangling until she looks back up and sees his eyes--sees the familiarity there--and settles. “That’s what’s saved everyone in this city. Whatever it’s telling you to do, if you listen to it, I’m sure you’ll figure out the right thing.”

Kara squeezes his hand, thankful and quiet, letting out a slow, quivering breath as she looks up at the picture, leaning into him despite herself. “You...know when I said that I didn’t think I could have a relationship? I meant that...I can’t.” She clarifies, not letting go of his hand, because she does owe him this, the feeling of his breath on her lips not too faint of a memory. “I meant that there will always be someone who needs saving, or an emergency, or a danger...I meant that I’ll...always have to be ordinary, regular, _humble_ ,” She quotes from a conversation James will never know, “Kara Danvers in order to keep my family safe. To keep Kal-El safe. And...and you’re right. My heart does always know what it wants--what to do--but sometimes...”

She stands, hands pushing through hair, tossing the glasses onto her bed as a rushed hand runs over her lips.

“Kara…”

“I just don’t understand what she wants from me. Who she wants me to be. I’m--I’m not who she thinks I am. Or, worse, I _am_ and I'll never--”

“Well maybe it’s not about what _you_ think she thinks.” James stands, grabbing his jacket in a hand, both hands gently curving over shoulders, lightly shaking so that Kara will look at him. “Like I said, I don’t know what’s going on. But take it from me, as your _friend_ ,” James smiles and it lightens the room and Kara’s not sure why tears prick the back of her throat, something unraveling in her stomach, “And as someone who worked with Clark _and_ Cat for _years_. If Cat Grant sees you at all, being yourself is all you need to do. Stop overthinking things. I get it, things...didn’t work out between us.” Hands shove into pockets, a jacket cupped in the crook of an arm, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you happy, alright?”

Kara leans forward and before she can think twice, lips gently brushing along a smooth cheek in thanks, hand wiping a hint of moisture from a smiling cheek, a taste of bittersweet on her tongue.

The perfect guy for a girl who doesn’t know how to pretend how to be perfectly imperfect, anymore.

“Thank you, James.”

“Hey,” He raises both hands in a humble display, still smiling, “But for the record? Alex is _so_ gonna kill you when she finds out we talked about this first.”

“Oh, boy, yeah.” Kara nods emphatically.

“Yeah.” His laugh is light and she feels a torn seam slowly repairing, a needle thread with stronger string as it pulls gaps closed. “So...are you gonna go--”

“Cat can wait.” They share a moment, just a moment, before Kara tucks her arms in his, tugging him back into the main room, smiling at the sight of Winn and Alex huddled on a couch, feverishly whispering gossip Kara will do them the favor of pretending she can’t hear.

Since all of it is about her.

“I kind of feel like being with family right now.”

“We were _definitely_ not talking about yo--oh-woaa--”

Alex shoves Winn off of the back of the couch when Kara comes into view, a groan coming from the floor as his head pops up over the back of it.

“Ok,” Winn’s a fluffed mess of hair as arms struggle to heft himself up, Alex shrugging as she lifts a beer to her lips, “Oww.”

“We were definitely talking about you.” Alex notes, “And you’re telling me later.”

Kara loves them in this moment more than she could ever hope to show, beaming as she tugs a laughing James over to the couch, shoving a potsticker in her mouth with a happy hum.

“You guys are great.”

“Well, pfft…” Winn runs hands through his hair and Kara lovingly smooths down an antenna of it, voice exaggerated and smile tucked as he plops down next to her. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

They get back to charades soon enough and eventually James and Winn leave the apartment underneath quiet sounds of night in the city, Kara and Alex settling down on the couch with blankets and a tub of ice cream, her sister’s head tucked in the crook of her neck.

“He’s right, you know.” Alex notes, taking a mouthful for once not safeguarding it beforehand like Kara might eat it before it even touches her lips, rain gently pattering the windows like an erratic heartbeat, “You should follow your heart.”

It’s all she can do not to drop the ice cream.

“You heard?”

Alex’s smirk is nothing short of a shit-eating grin, grabbing the ice cream from suddenly slack fingers, “Nope.” The ‘p’ pops, winking upwards, snuggling in closer, “I’m just that good.” A little more serious, “That’s always his advice. Anytime you tell me you talk, it’s always ‘follow your heart, Kara’. And I have to admit…” A little gentler, “It’s not bad advice.”

“Yeah.” It’s a little quieter, listening to the sound of the rain mix with her sister’s heartbeat--with the sound of the ice defrosting around a large tub. “He makes it sound so simple.”

“Because you’re the one that always makes it _look_ so simple.” The tub plunks down on the nearby coffee table, a sister’s ever-attentive hands tugging Kara into her lap, patting a knee. “Your whole life you’ve always chased after your heart. All of us have watched that--the city’s _inspired_ by it--and I’ve spent years trying to convince you _not_ to do it and...I was totally wrong.” It’s a quiet admittance, setting the ice cream aside, “So...why aren’t you doing it right now?”

“I am.” Kara quietly argues, “I think that’s the problem.” Dark eyebrows arch and a sigh leaves from sagging, deceivably small shoulders as Kara turns around, dropping a head down to a chest now that it’s devoid of steadily-melting ice cream. And then pulls the bucket into her lap, folding around white with a warm spoon and a sigh. “I’m doing the chasing. It’s just...when did my life become so complicated?”

“You mean before or after you lost your planet, floated around in space for a couple decades, crash landed on a brand new planet and had to learn a completely different culture, language, and history?” Alex pats her shoulder, continuing, “Found out your baby cousin was a grown man. Lost our Dad. Flashed the whole varsity soccer team Junior year--”

“You’re never letting me live that down.”

“--Or when you became Supergirl and almost lose your life on a daily basis helping your sister protect the planet and routinely save the lives of all of the people we care about?” Alex finishes without missing a beat, shrugging her shoulders underneath the weight of Kara’s head, fingers brushing through blonde locks. “Your life-- _our_ lives--have always been complicated.”

“Not ordinary.” Kara murmurs, eyes watching the rain gently roll down fogged windows.

“Right. But the point is,” Alex taps above the edge of a heart, right near the edge of a shoulder, “Through all of that, you’ve helped people. Our lives are only going to get _more_ complicated, and I know you’ll still always help people. Your heart’s good, Kara, and you always follow it. It’s not going to stop. It’s who you are.”

“What?” Kara’s brows knit, leaning up in a warm embrace to turn around, leaning back just enough to meet Alex’s eyes, idly setting the ice cream back down. “What did you say?”

“I said it’s who you--”

“It’s who I am.” It’s a realization that settles as brightly as the sun in her chest, stumbling back off of the couch, “It’s who _I_ am. That’s what she--she meant I--It’s about who I am. Not the glasses, not Supergirl, not--” A rush of air tosses Alex’s hair as Kara grabs her glasses, standing in front of her sister in a changed set of clothes, determination clear on her face a moment later. “It’s _me_. I've never even asked her. That’s it. Thanks, Alex.” A gentle kiss is brushed over a forehead, smile wide and easy, “I gotta go. Love you.”

“No--” The apartment is empty a moment later, Kara hearing the faint edge of “...problem.” half a mile away before she realizes she forgot something very, very important.

Another gust of wind in the apartment and the ice cream Alex has immediately lifted into a lap is replaced with a stuffed animal from Kara’s closet, mouth happy and cool with her roadtrip snack, the faint--very faint--sound of her sister collapsing back into the couch (probably throwing hands up in frustration but cuddling the bear, anyways) as she yells after her--

“Didn’t want it anyways!”

\--

**So choose who you trust wisely, Kara.**

It’s fortune that favors the bold and Kara is apparently very, very bold today when the air cracks around her and she steps around the corner to see none other than Cat Grant, herself, slowly making her way into an apartment. Carter is dropped off, late night hours likely tasting like bourbon on Cat’s lips--just enough to get the woman through the weekend--and Kara isn’t surprised because the CEO always stays close to work when her son isn’t nearby.

The breath steels itself in her lungs, clothes soaked from the flight here, voice husking as she watches Cat still before she even talks--freeze like she feels her here--but it won’t be Supergirl that greets a journalist's gaze. 

“You’re right. I am hiding a pretty big part of myself.”

“Kara--” Cat slowly turns around, stepping forward just enough to be covered by the awning, nose wrinkling a little in distaste, “You’re drenched.”

“Yeah. I ran here.” She says simply, shaking her head, a few drops of water going with it.

“You _ran_.” It’s drawled, eyes barely slitting, and Kara continues before they can get stuck on a far easier topic.

“I don’t want James.” It’s blunt--to the point--voice as strong as Supergirl and eyes as sincere as Kara Danvers, heart pounding somewhere inbetween as she steps closer. Somewhere along a third line that’s developed between the axis of the two, tethered to a tired Cat Grant. “I know we didn’t talk about it, and I’m sorry if I let you think that I did.”

“It’s none of my business who you--” But Cat sounds a little quieter underneath the raging rain.  Water sticks a ponytail to a neck, glasses too wet for Kara to see, an arm wiping the moisture from fogged glass, shaking her head as she sucks in a small breath.

“I don’t want James.” Kara repeats, not letting the lie settle between them--not letting the other woman try to get another one in, either. “I don’t want that...that relationship. I don’t want conventional or normal. For once, I’m letting myself do more than  _want_ the not-normal.” Kara steps closer, feeling the water from the awning mix with the heavens, painting her hair in wet drops, smile shakily spreading, “I know you think I’m trying to push you _into_ that, the traditional thing, but I’m not. I want whatever really complicated, beautiful, infuriating thing it is I have with you.”

Cat pauses and Kara’s close enough to see it, even through her glasses--watch the way Cat Grant, for only a few moments, is _breathless._

“Sex.” Cat supplies. “It’s _just_ very good, very frequent, very _inventive_ s--”

“No. Well, I...yes.” Kara clears her throat--straightens her glasses--hands finding hips before one finger waves in indignation, realizing Cat’s steered her off track. “That’s not my point, Cat. You know it’s more than that. I mean, yeah,” A faint laugh, “The sex is, like... _really_ really good. I agree with you. I’ve always agreed with you on that. But stop trying to deny it’s--”

“That’s a tall glass, Kara.” Cat shakes her head, stance mirroring Kara’s for only a moment before she saunters closer, water painting an invisible line between them. “It’s funny, after that week where you had that little--” A wave of a hand, tucking down Kara’s finger like an unloaded gun, unimpressed as she shakes off a few wayward droplets from a manicured nail, “Angelina Jolie dip into the deep end last year, I’ve always wondered why you didn’t just come into my office and demand what you wanted...until I remembered who I was dealing with.” There’s something about the tone that curls in Kara’s shoulders, stepping closer, only her shoulders left in the storm, now.

“Well maybe this is--” Voice quieter when she hears someone round the corner of the street, despite the fact that they’re far out of earshot, eyes flicking to the side before they settle back on familiar eyes and now-crossed arms. “Maybe this is me demanding.” A beat, brows constricting in something pained. “I don’t...Nevermind, this is not me demanding. I’m not going to _demand_ anything from you, Cat. You don’t demand anything from someone in any kind of relationship. That’s not how it works.”

“Well…” Lips barely part, Cat’s hands sliding into ever-fashionable pockets as she searches Kara’s features for a moment, seeming to hesitate--to pause--before she steps closer, imperceptibly, and it’s a moment--a golden sun--and Kara doesn’t bother to stifle the hope blooming from barely-damp fingers. “That _would_ be a change.”

“I just…” Footsteps sound in wet concrete and Kara isn’t quiet because she’s scared that someone will overhear, the silence between them fragile. She’s scared of something else altogether--terrified. She found more peace floating endlessly in a vacuum of space than this cracked line of cement, tiptoeing along the edges of cracked slivers of ice, trying to outstretch a hand to save her before they can both fall into unknown depths. A faint, vulnerable laugh on her lips: “I’m tired of my life being full of ultimatums. Of fitting into one box. Or...twelve. I just want to be _with_ you, Catherine. _I_ just want to be with you.”

“Kara…”

“Is that so bad?” It’s a question that she can’t keep from cracking, asking more than just a question. Something Cat understands, given the knowing eyes across from her: “To be tired at the thought of even pretending that I’m not happy when I’m with you?”

“Now isn’t the time,” Cat’s eyes close, “To ask me questions you aren’t prepared to hear the answers to, Kara.” It’s an echo of a time that feels so long ago and a smile is waiting for Cat when her eyes open.

“I’m ready to hear anything you want to tell me, whenever you’re finally ready to tell me.” Kara gently settles on, instead.

A car rushes past them, the sound of tires spinning through sputtering water onto the sidewalk not much of a distraction from the faint breath dancing mist into the air.

Ironically enough, the silence between them reminds her of space, too.

“If we keep doing this, there aren’t going to be any attachments, Kara. There can’t be.” Cat finally settles on--fights--and Kara feels like a hot air balloon, chest expelling with a gust of hot air, fire underneath the brim of her nose.

“Other than our friendship.” Kara argues, not willing to let that point slide.

A wave of a dismissive hand, practically conceding, Cat’s eyes dropping down to her lips. “But something tells me you’re not very good at staying detached, are you?” Reminding, “Miss, ‘I don’t do ‘casual’.”

“I don’t.” Kara agrees, but still steps closer, “This has never been casual for me. I’m not making a deal that I won’t...have an attachment to you, Cat.” She wouldn’t be able to, sincere and honest: “I already do. I’m already attached. You already have one, too.”

“Kara…” It’s her second warning, tiptoeing along dangerous waters. She’s a breath away, now, the woman in question curling fingers around her elbows, slowly untangling the crossed arms in front of a chest.

“You do, Cat.” Nails dip in the crevice of Cat’s very own personal fortress of solitude over a quaking heart, “I mean, you can't just... _five months_ and no attachment? I’m not pushing you. I’m not asking for a relationship. Not a...courtship or the ‘hey come meet my parent’ weekend. I actually think a traditional relationship is the...exact opposite of a good idea. I don’t _want_ to have lunch with your mother.” A faint laugh at that from slightly hunched shoulders that Kara wants to trace with fingertips, “In fact, I promise I won’t make you have lunch with your mother.” Cat’s laugh is a little more obvious, head tipping back to run her fingers along a chin before arms once more cross,

"That's a binding verbal contract." It's a hum that doesn't quite meet uncharacteristically hesitant eyes.

"Give me a piece of paper and I'll sign it." Kara promises. "I’m not as traditional as you think.”

“And you’re _not_ ordinary,” Cat argues in a way that makes Kara shift on her feet--look away for a beat before she looks back and settles, meeting the challenge head on. If she’s intent on being honest with Cat, it’s only fair that she’s honest in return. The woman proceeding--letting it go, for the moment--tipping a chin back, “Nothing traditional. At least there’s something we can agree on.” Cat’s muscles flex underneath the touch but ease at the swipe of thumbs.

“Attachments aren’t bad. Letting people in doesn’t mean the end of the world.” Brows knit, thinking of family and open chests for hearts, “Well, usually.” A shake of the head, finally untangling arms, smile spreading when Cat gives no resistance. It might be contagious because the edges of Cat’s lips bat upwards. “Letting _me_ in isn’t the end of the world. I promise.”

A murmur, “You’re intent on teaching me that, aren’t you.”

“And if you don’t want that attachment, I...I understand.” She clears her throat--tries not to swallow--tries not to lean into the soft touch of Cat’s fingers brushing along the bone of her wrist, a small gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed. “I told you I’m not going to demand anything. You can always walk away. We’ll just...stay friends and I’ll always be there for you. Always. I promised you that.” Adding, words wrinkled in a way her eyes won’t be for centuries underneath a yellow sun, “Maybe I’m not good at staying detached but I’m...I’ve had a lifetime of learning how to let go.” A breath, shifting on feet, trying to find equilibrium in the nearly imperceptible waiver of her voice, “Please.”

It’s a heavy statement that hangs between them and Kara lets out a quaking breath when it’s Cat that breaks the silence between them, fingers smoothing up a bicep--a neck--to curve around a cheek, eyes dropping back down to lips.

“This time there are going to be rules.” It’s a breath and Kara doesn’t bother hiding the wide smile that slowly bridges the gaps between her cheeks.

“I _love_ rules.” It’s an immediate response as Kara breathes a sigh of relief, stepping closer, “I’m _great_ at rules.”  Their bodies pull closer, city fading into white noise around them.

“We’re going to keep everything else strictly professional.” Fingers curl in the fabric by her shoulders before smoothing it out, like Cat isn’t sure whether to console or break.

“Yes, Ms. Grant.” Kara immediately supplies, closing the distance until a breath is all that stays between them. “We always do.”

Another car comes a little too close to the curb, a waterfall raining down, Kara thoughtlessly tugging Cat away from it before it can hit in a whirlwind, a hint of laughter breaking between them, a spell broken for only a moment. Surprisingly, an elegant wrist is the one that dips, offering open fingers to her momentary savior, nodding back towards the apartment. Wordlessly--immediately--Kara takes the gesture and their ascent up to a familiar door is uneventful and calmer than it should be. Natural. It’s only when the door closes and their fingers untangle--when those same fingers turn into molten silk as they slide along bones of a tilted hip, gently tugging Cat closer in something that, for once, isn’t immediacy or secrecy--that it feels heavy, at all.

“This is either going to be the best idea I’ve ever heard from you...or the most ill-advised.” Cat murmurs, hands smoothing up clenching forearms--biceps--curving around shoulders, ultimately once more finding a hand buried in wet, free hair, impossibly soft as she guides Kara down. “I’m leaning towards it being a horrible idea, Kara.”

“You can fire me if I’m wrong.” Kara offers, eyes settling on lips.

“Of course I can.” Their mouths are a breath apart and blue eyes watch water drip from the rims of glasses onto Cat’s cheeks and lets out a small breath.

It's time.

“Wait.” A nervous laugh strangles in her chest, fingers slowly moving up to dip in the black band of slim glasses, Cat’s look of surprise and confusion turning into something impossibly darker. Kara will never know words enough to describe the faint, almost knowing huff of air from Catherine’s lips, or the sharp curve of nails behind her neck. 

Anticipation.

She has to close her eyes as she removes the glasses from the bridge of her nose, blinks coming into focus so that she can _see_ her--see _all_ of her. Every inch. Every breath. Every smile. Their eyes meet and Kara could bury herself here, gladly, instead of going in flight to Rao whenever the time comes. Because it isn’t nakedness or vulnerability that spreads in her chest--

It's something close to freedom.

“ _Oh._ ” Cat breathes, one of the hands untangling to brush between the spot where glasses normally sit--where an impression should be, but isn’t--and skims up to trace the line of a faint, crinkling brow, instead. There’s a hint of moisture caught in a reverent gaze--an overwhelming amount of emotion caught between both of them--and Catherine holds Kara Danvers in fragile hands that have built empires underneath nails for the first time since they’ve met, a world protected underneath a curving palm.

"Hi." Cat breathes and Kara's swallow is so dry that the faint scratching tickles her ears, blood sounding a drum in her chest.

"Hi."

When Cat kisses her, Kara can’t seem to remember why she agreed to the notion of it being anything close to _bad_ at all, murmuring against a warm mouth, glasses clattering to the ground as Cat pulls her tighter and tighter past an event horizon and into a singularity she can’t see, all of time passing between the touch of her lips:

“Yes, Catherine,” She’s breathless, Cat’s breath warming her lips, seeing the whole world behind her eyes, but only tasting it for the first time in this moment. It's intoxicating. “You’re right. This is probably a horrible idea.” But she doesn’t pull away. 

“Kara.” A tsk as Cat kisses her, fingers not as gentle along shoulders as they were underneath uncovered eyes when she pushes Kara onto her bed, crawling on top of her, a blouse pulled over a head in one swift, elegant movement. “Always the _pessimist_.” It’s a husked laugh in an ear as Cat pulls away, gentler, cupping cheeks. Lips brush over a left eyelid--a right--arms that could crush a building into ash gently circling, protective, around Cat’s waist, breath catching as she buries a prayer against a chin, blinking away moisture in her eyes. A wetness that Cat has the grace not to comment on as thumbs swipe underneath bare eyes, murmuring against parted lips: “It wouldn’t kill you to have a little faith.”

“I do.” Kara promises, not in the mood to join the charade, feeling light in her chest but heavy in her head, a contradiction of pained breaths behind her ribs, hand smoothing up a chest to rest over Cat’s fluttering heart, memorizing the familiar beat with free eyes. “I have it in you.”

“Then don’t worry.” Cat kisses her, fingers always tangling in free hair when they have the chance, easing them both back onto the bed, nipping at a lip. Promising in the most Catherine’s ever given her, Kara’s hand listening to the solemn drum of her heart, “Stop demanding so much of yourself when you’re not demanding anything from anyone else. You’re the only one giving ultimatums, Kara. It’s not so bad to want to be happy if you believe you deserve it.”

Kara lets out a quivering breath, trying to focus just on Cat instead of the entire world behind her, mind pulsing until she sees just dark eyes and smooth lips, honesty the only language left between them.

_Rule #11..._

She couldn't be asking _._

“I can’t believe I’m saying this to a girl who wore a pastel sweater with a zebra on it, today.” There’s a world of words unsaid between them, Cat’s hand skimming down a cheek, fingers pushing underneath the fabric of a shirt to smooth up ribbed blue, Kara’s stomach clenching at the weight of it. At the want of it.

Lust isn’t always just a physical need and she feels something longing within her chest, lungs _aching_ to voice it. Like every single fiber of her being is curling towards the emotion in her throat.

Towards Catherine.

“Let yourself be happy.” Cat might ask the world between them--might demand or request or promise, Kara isn’t sure--but fingers smooth up an arm to cheeks, holding a small body against her. “Let yourself feel like you deserve it, Kara.”

“Do you?” It’s a quiet question like a girl who’s just learned English, unsure how the world works or why sand crumbles beneath her fingers when she tries to hold it, fading away into the wind of a beach. “Feel like you deserve it.”

Cat’s lips part, the most Kara knows she’ll ever admit, a vulnerable whisper on her tongue, “I do right now.” It sounds dangerously close to _I do with you._

Kara’s response is to pull Cat closer to her and kiss her for everything she’s worth, arm wrapping around warm shoulders as she pulls her to the bed, heartbeat falling into sync with the wild one against her chest.

Happiness.

The sound of a button falling out of the safe pocket of a suit, rolling along the crevices of a floor to be tucked away in a dusty corner, is forgotten underneath the sound of a moan.

It’s the first time she ever makes love to Catherine Grant and she refuses to focus on whether or not it will be the last.

**Because they will define you.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all seriousness does Kara ever take her glasses off in the office to clean them, or...?


	5. Easy Like Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll start to forget what it’s like not to fall asleep next to you.” There’s more behind the words and Kara pulls away just enough to search familiar eyes, the hint of vulnerability in simplicity twisting a knot in her stomach.
> 
> It’s the vulnerability that makes the quivering breath on Kara’s lips turn into a lost smile--the idea that Cat won’t be the only person who would find difficulty in allowing herself so much.
> 
> “I wish I knew what I was agreeing to lose.” Kara's admittance is followed by a gentle kiss, Cat tugging her down closer, murmuring against lips. “We didn’t really sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the delay, friends. I've somehow turned around and devoted this entire chapter to a single day with only one real rule added to the list. Let me just take the time to apologize in advance for all of the future chapters because I'm just...sorry. I really am. :'D
> 
> I love to hear comments/criticisms and I _adore_ conversations with people about what they think about characters/motivations/all that. So feel free to leave any comments you might be lead to leave! I don't have a beta so feel free to let me know if anything doesn't make sense, either.
> 
> No Kryptonian translations for this chapter, so nothing at the end.

The weight of her body settles so softly against Kara’s chest that she wouldn’t be sure Cat was there, at all, if she wasn’t so warm. If her chest didn’t rise and fall with each breath of a quiet tide.

A young, naive Kryptonian had curiously--awkwardly, for her poor cousin--asked Kal-El what it had been like to be with a human when she was younger, Lois cackling as her boyfriend blushed the shade of his cape. Kara hadn't learned such shame until a few years later underneath Alex's knowing tutelage (shame was a trait her sister carries about her sex life in spades, and Kara had assumed it was natural for a human, until recently) because Kryptonians had never shied away from the topic. He'd stuttered until Lois left, a hefty breath easing out his shoulders until they sunk lower than she'd ever thought they should. The moment had stood out to her so starkly because she'd looked up to him so much then, like he was part of the sky and the sun, himself, and she could never quite wrap her arms around the words, let alone her mind around the thought. The image of an abandoned Clark staring after the love of his life as he whispered:

_Sometimes it feels like they're not even there, at all._

Kara understands it, now, but won't truly understand it for months, and simply shifts so that Catherine can rest fully against her--can feel the weight of a faint heartbeat--instead of focusing on years ago and a cousin who knew how to explain being a human about as well as she knew how to explain being a Kryptonian.

Knees anchor mountains by Cat’s hips, finger gently skimming along an exposed collarbone in a dance of nails, lips gently brushing over a shoulder. A neck. Nuzzling into warm flesh and smiling the way Cat arches just barely into it, a hum on her lips. Cat's hand moves up to twirl idly in down blonde locks like it’s the most natural thing in the world--like them laying here like this, with Catherine’s fingers skimming through gold is the most natural thing in the world--and Kara lets out a quiet, happy breath.

She can feel Catherine here, now.

A blank page sits between them, unexplored and open on a CEO's bare knees, a fountain pen fussed in a free hand.

It’s easier to admit in the morning, the faintest rays of sun warming both of their skin, painting white in swirls of skin and light, that Kara loves her. She loves her with each and every breath that warms a shoulder, the feeling of fingers so gently twirling hair along a palm like ribbons willingly binding a wrist. She loves her in the sunrise and the sunset and the inbetween, but it’s never been so clear, like this.

Which is probably why it’s the first rule that makes the page, Cat’s elegant handwriting simply notating a flick of the wrist.

**_Rule #1...Absolutely no staying the night._ **

Kara’s faint laugh skims along her ear, a hint of hope curling the end of it. “Are you sure?” The edges of Cat’s smile--barely visible from this angle--bat upwards and teeth might temper the edges.

“Oh, yes.” She breathes like the words themselves are dangerous, turning around to nuzzle a nose along Kara’s jaw, “I’m sure.”

“You like this, too.” It’s almost an accusation and she’s surprised when Cat agrees, voice thick and quiet and Kara knows it with even more certainty: she loves her.

“Too much.”

“Oh.” The fingers in Kara’s hair dance down to a jaw, a slow kiss caught between their breaths, and it’s not the first time she’s been so glad to not feel the sharp weight of glasses cluttering the brush of their noses, tonight. “Staying the night, it doesn’t mean we’ll--”

“Ah.” Cat tsks against her mouth, kissing her again, slow and sweet and like there’s no rush in the world. Like there isn’t a world, outside of this warm bed and light sheets, and that must be the danger of waking up like this, too. Kara isn’t sure she knows how to untangle herself under the weight of sheets and limbs. “Staying over is the first tumultuous step towards us barreling towards the point of no return. Next you’ll be staying for lunch--for dinner with Carter--”

“I already have lunch and dinner with Carter.” Kara murmurs, hand skimming along the line of a collarbone, tasting the way Cat’s breath catches against her lips, though her tone doesn’t falter. _Cat Grant doesn’t falter_ \--it must be a rule of her own--and Kara loves that, too.

“I’ll start to forget what it’s like not to fall asleep next to you.” There’s more behind the words and Kara pulls away just enough to search familiar eyes, the hint of vulnerability in simplicity twisting a knot in her stomach.

It’s the vulnerability that makes the quivering breath on Kara’s lips turn into a lost smile--the idea that Cat won’t be the only person who would find difficulty in allowing herself so much.

“I wish I knew what I was agreeing to lose.” Kara's admittance is followed by a gentle kiss, Cat tugging her down closer, murmuring against lips. “We didn’t really sleep.”

Cat laughs, then, soft and bright, but ever the mentor, she doesn’t let that let her falter, either. (Kara might love  _that_ just a little less).

“We’re doing this so that we can keep our priorities in line, Kara.” It’s a gentle reminder, however pressing. “If I start to become accustomed to you, so will my son.” A hint of something that might be regret--conflict--and Kara lovingly runs a thumb along a lower lip to soothe her--to stop the faintest wrinkle of brows between warm eyes, “And I think I’ve crossed that bridge more than I should have, already.” She only allows a moment for it to sink in, “If you keep staying, eventually we’ll both find a reason for neither one of us to leave, if we have to. And I have my son to think of."

“Right.” A shaky breath, nose once more skimming along the strong line of a jaw, lips brushing against the fluttering quake of a pulse in a neck, feeling--hearing--Cat’s whole body jump in tempo at the familiarity of it.

“Kara,” She warns, but doesn’t push her away, “Don’t make me insist you put pants on. It will be a loss for both of us.” Kara laughs against that warm, curving spot and that doesn’t seem to help, either, a neck arching at warmth. They’ve already had to restart making the list five times, already, and this is the first time they’ve managed to get something down, at all. “Behave. If just for the fact that my body needs a break, God, I understand my effect on you, but you’re insatiable.” It takes more effort than it should be to pull herself away, lips brushing over a neck--a shoulder--in half-hearted apology, looking back down at the list.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Grant.” She uses her best professional smile--a thousand watts--and Cat looks like she might forget her own argument altogether before she turns around and settles back against her, once more, tapping the pen against a page, Kara gently untangling the silver from fingers to decidedly cross out “#1”, substituting something else, instead.

It’s so odd to make a list in English--foreign in a way some things still were, even now.

 ~~**Rule #1** ~~ **Rule** **#43** **. Absolutely no staying the night.**

“Forty-three?” Even though Kara can’t see it, she can _hear_ an eyebrow arching, a content rumble of laughter on Cat’s lips. “So this isn’t your first list. No wonder you’re such an astute assistant. Do you have ‘ _Don’t stare at my boss’ ass shamelessly during work’_ as number twelve?”

“No.” Kara’s fingers itch to shuffle glasses that are no longer there, settling for an impishly sheepish smile, instead, “I only ever give myself rules that I can’t break.” Nose wrinkling at the thought of an elevator, “Well...usually.”

“How very _As Good As It Gets_ of you.”

Kara’s eyebrows knit, opening her mouth to ask before Cat raises a hand, stemming the question.

“Nevermind.”

“So…” A cleared throat, straightening her shoulders as she looks down at an open page--a blank space--because this ritual isn’t one she’s shared since Jeremiah spent hours with cramping hands underneath the lamplight of his study, meticulously showing her how to write--showing the gift of creation to a young girl who only would remember destruction, soon enough, bright eyes marveling as pens puddled ink on a blank page. Even Alex never actually helped her compose a list--just gave her never-ending suggestions--and suddenly a thumb stills, hesitating along the smooth line of a fountain pen, pressing a little too hard against such a vast sheet of white. When the ink bleeds a faint tumble of breath catches against her teeth, eyes averting underneath Cat’s ever-present gaze. She feels skittish and nervous and--

Her shoulders instantly ease at the feeling of fingers lovingly skimming along a skipping pulse in her wrist, steel unspinning underneath the tethered weight of a cable car.

“Let’s look at our desired outcome and review.” Cat, ever the CEO, takes a hold of this little meeting even if she doesn’t take back the pen, and this is familiar territory that Kara can relax into, her thumb slackening enough to not break the pen. She’s spent hours watching Cat conduct the story of the world with a flick of the wrist, ever the competent literary maestra, and Kara is relieved to fall into her own role. “Our outcome?”

“To define our relationship.” Kara supplies.

“No, that’s our purpose. We’ve admitted that we’re in a relationship, so before it spirals out of control, we’re putting parameters on that relationship.”

“ _You’ve_ admitted,” Kara reminds, “I always admitted it.”

“Semantics.” Cat waves a wrist, turning around amidst tangled puffs of white, knees tucking up so that she rests in a lap, content to let her almost-ex-assistant do the writing for her. “Don’t be difficult.” But she’s smiling, gently pecking Kara’s lips in a way that makes her almost as weak as a searing kiss could. “Our outcome is unique. We’re aiming to do the impossible--the unthinkable--to keep this,” A waved hand between them, “In-tact while knowingly putting other priorities above it. In order to do that, we’re attempting to create a new category of relationship, Kara.”

“Right.” A breath through her nose, “We don’t even have a term for it.”

“Well, it’s not casual.” Eyes barely slit, humming as her hand skims along a sternum, Kara’s throat bobbing above the weight of it, a low husk from her lover is adamant and factual: “I’m not sharing. Not now.”

“Would you have shared me if I had wanted James?” It’s a curious question, following up, “Not that I wanted to.”

Cat takes a moment to think, nails dipping along a collarbone before she answers, simple and unmoving:

“No.”

“You would have let me go because you wanted me to be happy.” There’s a breathless croak in Kara’s throat at that and Cat looks away, something haunted on her features.

“We’re doing this because eventually one of us will have to let go, regardless, Kara. That’s our assumption. Our inevitability.” A bittersweet smile that Kara is becoming accustomed to and everything in her wishes to smooth it out like the wrinkled sheets that she’s sure Cat will spend her own time ironing after Kara’s left. She wants to give Cat back some small sense of control--that’s been Kara’s job for years--but it takes another breath to remember that it won’t be her job, next week. 42 rules out the window. “I think I selfishly hoped you would make it easier on me.”

“Well…” Kara’s fingers slacken around the pen. “You do always tell me I like to be difficult.”

“Hmm.” Another kiss, lingering before Cat turns around, ever the guiding force, tapping the page. “You do.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant.” She can still follow a few wordless orders, job or not, focusing back on the page, “So, it’s not casual.” Kara agrees, “It’s never been casual. It’s...not-casual, monogamous, not-just-sex,” The recall is said with a heavy breath in her chest and she’s sure Cat can feel it expand against her before rattling out in a frustrated mess, “So we’re trying to…” Her face looks pained at the suggestion of it even before she manages to push it out, barely a whisper, “Is this what we’re doing, Cat? Are we intentionally trying to make it so that this is disposable? Is that what we’re talking about with ‘not traditional’? That sounds awful, Catherine. That doesn’t sound--”

“It is awful, Kara.” There’s no brokering in that tone. “But it’s necessary. I won’t stand between you and a difficult decision. You won’t stand between me and mine. Our chosen lives--our careers--are ones that fulfill a public necessity. They can be excruciating and demanding, but they are _necessary_ . They require sacrifices. I’m not looking for a fifth marriage and you can’t do traditional. It’s cruel of _you_ to even attempt, Kara.” Cat’s voice is a whisper, but there’s no quake in it--no turn of her head or waver as she meets Kara’s eyes, jaw stern, and Kara wonders if she’s spent all five months--

“Cat--” She tries but a hand is held up between them, stemming any form of protest or explanation.

“Kara.” But it’s quieter than she expects, however unwavering, and she knows it now--Catherine has spent the past five months debating just this. “Unless you can promise me, unequivocally and without a doubt, that there _won’t_ always be a possibility that one of the nights you hop and zip-zip through the sky that you won’t leave behind me and my son, waiting for you to come home when you never will, then I don’t want to hear it.” Her whole body stiffens then and Kara can’t look away. “You already have to live with the decision that this will affect me--that your life will undoubtedly always have an effect on me, and will always have a lasting impact on my son, a lot of which I take a good bit of the blame for, Kara--but don’t attempt to _break_ me with it. Do _not_ push me on this.”

“Catherine,” Kara’s voice shivers, hand skimming along a jaw that must want to turn into steel underneath her touch, but melts into something quiet and quivering, instead. There’s a shine in dark eyes when she kisses her.

Kara loves this, too. She loves the undeniable resolve and sacrifice of a woman who’s the antithesis of a Kryptonian’s heart. Her mother had thought she could save a planet without breaking it and Astra had thought she could save a planet by making it so that it could never be broken, mindless and thoughtless and unified. Catherine Grant believes she can save a planet by being true to it. By giving every last piece of herself left and unifying under a banner of hope for anyone that will listen.

Kara isn’t a planet and somedays she isn’t sure she even has one--if she isn’t just as indebted to the asteroids floating in space as a home she's made or a home she's lost--If the sand by the ocean isn’t just fragments of a planet that made it here years before she did--if Krypton isn’t just a dream or if Earth isn’t just as unobtainable....

But Cat--

This isn’t disposable. It isn’t disposable to either one of them. And Kara, in a way she’s learned to over two and a half years, clings to the faintest silver lining around the clouds of Catherine’s voice.

And smiles.

Kara blinks away tears and can’t help a hint of a consoling, breathless laugh, “So you imagined us having a home to come home to? Not that I’m dwelling on that--totally not, but--”

Catherine cuts her off with her lips and the list clatters to the floor when the sheets fall, an eager hand clearing way behind curving shoulders as Kara pushes her down into the vacated, cool mattress. It’s deep and slow and consuming and when Kara pulls away to breathe, the lips below her are bruised and eyes bright, the feeling of legs wrapping around her waist an anchor.

“Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?” Cat asks her, but there’s a spreading smile on her lips as her fingers smooth down cheeks, tucking around a neck, knees sliding up a side. When heels press down on the small of a back to guide Kara’s hips tighter down, she obliges, kissing her again. Kissing her until she forgets about lists, at all.

“Because I like the thought of coming home to you.” It’s whispered against the shell of an ear, teeth nipping skin until she feels a body arch up into her. Lips falling to a pulse to feel it thrum against her tongue--her teeth--hand smoothing down between them, reveling in the clench of a stomach and the catch of Catherine’s breath. “I like the thought of it being you, Catherine. I want it to be you.”

“Kara--” The protest isn’t as strong as it could be with hands running down her back, a groan breaking through the air when Kara sucks a little harder and nails curls into hips in a way that would break skin if they could. “Did you miss the part about _not_ pressing me on this? You could…” Lips move down from Catherine's neck to her jaw--a cheek--and one of Catherine’s hands raise up to skim along her cheek--to tip a chin up to meet her eyes--and what’s there leaves Kara breathless. Leaves her curling fingers into the mattress like her life might depend on it. “At least _try_ to pretend like you’re not madly in love with me.”

“No.” It’s barely a breath and Kara hasn’t even realized she’s said it until the response registers in the dark eyes below her like a supernova in a far-away galaxy, quiet and expansive and bright as an emotion collapses in on itself in flashes of brown and green and lust, “I don’t--” A sharp breath, trying again with a sheepish, vulnerable look that nearly breaks when fingers sooth at her cheek, “I’m a horrible liar. You’d see right through me if I tried.”

“You really are. Bill Clinton's press release was more believable.” But Catherine is kissing her eyelids--the left--the right--in a ritual Kara's coming to love, lips brushing over the ridge of a nose, “Not that I blame you. I’m--”

“Amazing?” Kara supplies, eyes still closed, the hint of humor on her lips overwhelmed by the sincerity of it.

“I’ve imagined it being you, too, Kara.” That’s enough for Kara to open her eyes--to blink, surprised and not making any measure to hide it--to hide the slow smile that covers her features.  

“Then…” She swallows, “Then can we keep the being happy part in the front of all of this? I hear what you’re saying, Catherine. I do.” She leans down and kisses her,  “I do. I don’t want to hurt you and Carter. I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you and Carter. I won’t push. We’ll stick to the rules. Whatever fabricated distance you want--”

“Fabricated.” Cat smirks, “There’s that hidden red and blue confidence.” But Kara continues, undeterred.

“As long as you understand everytime I leave...I…” Undeterred for a minute, anyways, eyes falling down to where their chests press--where every breath brings them apart and together.

Five months ago, Cat would have kicked her out of that sofa and not looked back if Kara suggested it.

“It’s okay.” Those fingers are back in her hair, again, holding her and keeping her upright. Gentle. Constant in a way most things aren’t. That familiar, calm voice is soft “Tell me.”

Maybe, now, Catherine won’t kick her out, at all.

Kara swallows.

“I’m already coming home to you, Catherine.”

“Oh.” Her smile is brighter than it’s ever been, slow and spreading across her lips like a sunrise, and it’s easier for Kara to ignore the strangling roll of her heart’s drumbeat that way. “Well, then. If that’s the case, everytime you do come home...” Long fingers smooth down to above a heart, where if a suit sat, pictures would rustle underneath knowing fingers like a waving flag. “I think I can be happy.”

The scent of perfume dancing along a long neck is faint and faded but her breasts taste like sweat and her hips taste like skin and everything else tastes like Catherine when she coats her tongue and her cheek and her breath dances arias along the fog of noon rays of sun.

_Are you that somebody that sees a wall and breaks it--are you ready to fight just to see what's lost behind my fl--_

Two hours later, Catherine's fallen asleep underneath a thin sheet Kara's tucked around her frame, a completed list set aside on a nightstand next to two pairs of glasses, footsteps padding into a bathroom for a much needed shower. Whether or not she'll be allowed to break their first rule tonight, Supergirl can't fly into National City distinctly smelling like Catherine Grant. Something free and happy has settled in her chest, a persistent taste of home on her tongue that wouldn't stem a smile if she'd tried. She hasn't even realized she's been singing until a voice stops her. 

_-aws. Can you love me nak--_

“You never struck me for the R & B type.”

\-- _ked._

The smile spreads on Kara's lips, music pausing on her tongue. Surprisingly, she's not embarrassed in the least, a happy contentment still warm in her chest.

She feels more like herself than she has in years.

“You never struck me as having any clue what I’m singing.” Kara’s brows knit underneath soap, squinting one eye and blinking a little to adjust to light, unthinking as she smiles at the sight of Cat through waterfalls of water. It's rare that someone sneaks up on her, but the rush of noise in her ears is a familiar sort of peace.

“I have a radio station.” She's tying a robe around her waist, leaning against the edge of a marble counter with a cup of coffee in hand. Her hair is mussed and makeup long since gone and Kara thinks this is the sort of cheesy thing writers would spend their lives devoting sonnets to. Not that she's a writer. Maybe a Keats poem full of bright, vivid imagery veiling a simmering domesticity. “It’s my job to know everything.”

“KCO80.9FM" It's a proud smile, water running through a birds' nest of soapy white and blonde before it leans down to turn the shower from literally scalding to a human to what's probably just above a gentle boiling. She's certain Cat likes her showers like she likes her coffee: one step below the Great Chicago fire in a container. "I take requests if you want to listen to something else.” Kara quips through the hint of red on her cheeks, soap curving about her nose, reaching out with an impulsive hand to paint a white streak of suds down the bridge of Catherine's pointedly unamused nose.

At the sight of such unamusement, Kara does little to prove her sister wrong about having a deathwish because she reaches up the moment Cat puts down her coffee and tugs a sputtering blonde into the shower with every hint of Kryptonian (impish) confidence she has.

“Wh--ack!” Cat sputters underneath the warm jet, laughing despite herself. It's a small, telling reaction that only lifts the edges of a smile. “What in the world are you--” The laughter grows when Kara shakes suds around the shower out of her hair, spraying an unwilling party with hints of water as she pulls a soaking form into her arms, hands wrapping around hips, content to be naked against a clothed form. For a little while, anyways. Catherine takes this in stroll like how she always takes everything in stroll--like she had intended to be in the shower in the beginning, just like this--body sagging against the tile and the warm jet (and, hopefully, just a little into Kara's arms). “I’m starting to think you’re actually just a golden retriever.” Cat reaches up to splash water in her face in a childish way that makes her kidnapper beam, eyelashes fluttering underneath a stream when long fingers wipe a hand full of suds out of blue eyes and, oh, is Kara content to enjoy it, continuing on like her lover has been here the whole time.  

“Well you couldn't hear me sing out there." It's as innocent as it'll never be, sing-song and unconvincing. "What do you want, 80’s? I can sing the _crap_ outta the 80’s.” The robe hits the tile with a sopping thud, Kara’s fingers gently sliding underneath the hem of a shirt to tug that soaking thing off, too.

“Kara,” Cat’s still laughing as Kara makes a show of swaying with her, happy--giddy--in a way she hasn’t been in a long time. Cat’s protest isn’t too loud--too serious--eyes bright underneath warm bathroom lights, and she's not sure what being drunk is like, but this must be close.

“Contemporary?” Kara tries--offers--teasing: “Are you secretly a pop fan, Cat Grant? Cause I can so work with that.”

“ _Kara_ ,” That laugh is endless--as bright as the recessed lighting and expensive stone--and Kara tosses the wet shirt out of the shower, a dull smack sounding, forgotten, as it hits the sink right next to an abandoned coffee cup. But it's Cat that shimmies out of shorts, tugging Kara closer, their bodies once more falling underneath the jet, water creating a waterfall of white as the shampoo is washed out from hair. “If you sing _Call Me, Maybe_ , I’m shoving you out of the--”

"Call?" Kara perks up, a dangerous smile spreading that makes Cat slit her lips. "I can work with that."

"What are you--"

 _"You're calling to me--I can't hear what you've said_ \--" Kara's smile spreads at Cat's blink, ignoring her own voice bouncing off of wet tile and bare shoulders as she presses closer, " _Then you say ' go slow', I fall behind--_ "

"You're kidding me." Cat drawls, shoving her shoulder, but that smile is still there. 

_"The second hand unwinds."_

"Kara, these walls aren't  _actually_ soundpro--" It's a warning because even Cat Grant had been there for last year's Christmas party where the ever-timid assistant had no problem belting out  _Bohemian Rhapsody_ at the karaoke machine with Winn. What Cat Grant likely doesn't know is that Winn had far too many sips of punch and Kara Danvers had to step up to the plate to save her best friend. Dueting with him was the only option, really. 

Probably. 

It was the best option, as far as Kara had been concerned, anyways. No friend of hers would ever be left behind on a karaoke battlefield.

 _"If you’re lost you can look and you will--"_  

"I'm leaving." Cat tries to shove her shoulder again but the laugh that tumbles out of lips isn't particularly helping her cause.

 _"_ _\--find me._ _Time after time._ " Kara grabs the nearby shampoo bottle for effect, pointing a finger towards her lover. "Come on, Cat, I know you're an 80's girl--"

"Yes, the last thing we all need is to go back to is a time where vomit-colored leggings and pigtails were the norm. I am  _not_ \--"

" _If you fall, I will catch you I will be--"_ Kara pumps her fist, doing her best Cyndi Lauper impression. " _Waiting. Ti_ _me after time."_

"Oh my God, this is ridiculous." But there's something undeniably soft in those eyes as Cat leans into her, "I am _not_ singing with--"

"If _you're lost you can look and you will find me--"_ She pulls back, hand grasping her chest, " _Time after time--I_ _f_ _you fall I will catch you--"_ Louder and higher, intentionally emotional as she falls to her knees, " _I will be waaaaiting--_ " 

"Get up." But it's indulgent--still laughing--tugging up Kara until she listens, pressing up a familiar body against unfamiliar tiles, last hints of shampoo gone from her hair as she holds her. 

" _Time after time._ " Kara gently sings as Cat's fingers brush the hair from her eyes and cup her cheek, nose brushing along a palm with a gentle kiss. A hint of vulnerability seeps into her gaze , not bothering to hide it--she wouldn't be able to from Catherine, anyways--leaning down to kiss a bittersweet smile. 

"Kara," It's a sucked in breath of a noise. 

"Time after time," Kara hums--smiles--hair sticking to both of their shoulders as Cat leans up to kiss her, humming against her lips.

" _Time after time._ "

Two hours later, hair is dried, sheets are impeccably ironed, and Kara and Catherine are dressed, a list collaborated on and tucked away in the pocket of a suit. The faintest hint of melting butter wafts through the kitchen when a young boy (man, he'd argue and Kara would back him up wholeheartedly on his point) stumbles through an apartment, blinking at the sound filtering from a bluetooth speaker, visibly pausing in the doorway at the sight that greets him.

Kara Danvers and his ever-regal mother dancing around the kitchen--a bottle of oil in young hands an effective microphone, older hips bobbing in beat with a spatula--is probably a lot to take in for a teenager.

“ _Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time--”_

 _“All of the tiiiiim--_ ” Kara stumbles against the island, clearing her throat as she lowers the olive oil, bumbling as she moves to pass it over to Cat mid-verse, the older woman a hint off key but beautiful as she turns around. But Cat doesn’t look embarrassed or chagrined, waving the spatula towards him with a smile.

“... _mom_?”

Kara will never know what he’s thinking in that moment, hesitant and surprised--maybe it was how she felt when staring down her Bizarro self--but before long Cat drags him into the kitchen and makes him dance with them, and his smile, the picture of mother and son dancing around and singing to a random Spotify playlist from the 80’s, is worth more than any of Kara’s paychecks combined.

Carter is tucked in by the time Kara voices the thought that she's sure is in the back of their minds, hair long since as dry as her tongue, body sinking into a bed with a heavy breath.

It's been too good of a day for her to ruin, but she's apparently intent on trying, anyways.

“I can’t promise you that there won’t be a day that I leave and never come back. You can’t promise me that, either.” It's a quiet argument, blue settled on her palms like she's still scared, sometimes, of what her hands can do.

“No, I can’t.” Catherine's voice is practically a solid presence from the doorway, leaning against it as she watches her. Given the glasses on the bedside, she doesn't even have to be looking to see her. “But I’m at significantly less risk of it. And the greatest risk of anything happening to me is either a car...or is sitting right in front of me.”

To hear it so bluntly almost makes her nauseous. 

Kara’s face crumples, “I would never let anyone use you li--”

“You can’t promise that either.” Cat’s voice is unrelenting and wise--detached like she’s reading a business ledger, black and white smearing profits and margins along its pages. “I don’t want you to die of guilt, Kara. If something like that were ever to happen, I need to know that if it came between me or the city that you would make the right choice.”

“I would have to.” Kara’s voice cracks, certainty wavering, and if Cat’s hand didn’t cup her cheek like she was holding Ernest Hemingway’s pen--like she was life and hope and the future--it would be cruel how little she placates. But Kara wouldn’t be so hopelessly lost in this bed if Cat Grant ever even thought to placate in the first place. Insistent because just as Cat doesn’t know how to be placating, Kara shouldn’t know how to be selfish: “I _would._ ”

“Tell that to Kelly.” It’s not intended to be cruel, Kara knows, but it feels like a knife in Kara’s chest--like green kryptonite lights the lines of her jaw as someone she trusts so implicitly runs her through a tepid heart. The only thing keeping her on the bed is Cat’s fingers cupping her jaw and Kara knows she could break them. She could tear them in two and fly into the sun and no one in the world would be able to stop her. Not even her cousin, righteousness puffing his chest as an unknown culture straightens his shoulders. She could fly into space and float away because despite the weight on her chest, gravity shouldn’t hold her here. But she quivers against Cat, instead, weak and small and hurt, tears gathered along her lashes, because Catherine Grant has a hold on her that gravity never could.

“There--” It breaks and she looks deceivingly small against a sea of ironed white, Cat suddenly straddling her lap like the weight of her body will do far more than her hands. Desperately trying to explain something she doesn’t think she can, mind having no sway over her lips-- “I couldn’t--”

“You couldn’t save all of them.” Cat might not placate, but her voice is gentle and understanding even lined with gravel, pressing closer, holding Kara’s cheeks so that she looks at her. “And you have to live with that choice. Someday, you might have to live with the choice of letting me go, too, Kara. As much as I want to live--as much as you know I’ll fight with every breath I have--if it was me or the city, you choose the city.” Cat’s fingers tighten their grip and Kara’s vision swims, guilt clogging her throat.

Would she be forced to survive that too, stumbling through rubble, twenty four years asleep underneath the weight of Cat's lifeless body? 

Even for a scenario Kara prays to every God circling the rubble of her planet doesn’t exist, she wishes it will be her, instead. Winn--James--Alex--Catherine--Kal-El--her _planet_ and Astra and her mother’s shining, beautiful eyes--it should be her, instead.

“Cat--” Kara begs, but isn’t sure why, tears slowly painting her cheeks as she limply curls into herself on the bed, bringing Cat with her.

“You. Choose. The. City.” Cat’s jaw trembles and there’s tears, there, as well, her voice husking and quiet, desperate. Even now, even like this, Kara’s arms weakly wrap around shoulders to console her, a move that only seems to harden the resolve in that strong voice. "The City."

“Cat, please, stop.” It’s beyond a beg, now, desperately curling along the length of her throat. A plea--a shattered, pitiful whisper.

“If I have to let you go every night,” It’s a feverish breath and Kara isn’t even sure she hears it underneath the curling strain of her throat, gasping for air like she’s landed on an inhospitable planet, not the one that raised her up from the ash of her knees. “If I have to sit here drinking myself to sleep watching news coverage of you falling from space after pushing a fucking interplanetary prison up out of the atmosphere--”

There’s no time to think of how Cat would even know. That she might have clearance or friends in high places outside of a girl lost, flying and falling, in the clouds.

“--It’s only polite that you should understand the effect it has on me. That you don’t leave that in vain. You will fight.” It’s practically a growl underneath her tears and Kara’s fingers fall from shoulders to wrap around wrists, trying to hold Cat upright against her chest. Trying to keep herself from falling into the center of the Earth. “If you have to let me go, you will fight. You will never stop fighting. And _we_ \--this...us--this relationship--will never stand in the way of that, Kara. It’s...it’s unfair to put so much on your shoulders, Kara, I know. I wish…” The steel fades from Catherine’s voice and even with the tears clogging Kara’s eyes, she watches her deflate like melting, wilting glass underneath the hold of fingers. “I selfishly wish that I could love you without seeing the larger picture. But Supergirl and you are one in the same. And Supergirl is larger than us--than this--and she will always prevail. I will do everything in my power to make sure she succeeds, Kara.” A quivering breath, “To make sure you succeed. And that includes not holding you back and not holding your hand through every tough decision in your life. But I will be here for every single one of them that I can. I will be here as long as I can to help you be strong.”

“You _make_ me stronger, Catherine.” Kara argues without knowing what she’s arguing for, anymore. “Didn't today? Don't you..." She can't make her understand--isn't even sure if she needs to. "You…” Her voice breaks, “You make me happy.”

She murmurs something against Cat’s lips when she desperately kisses her, feeling breath break against her mouth--her teeth--her tongue--a gasp of tears burned in a neck that they’ll never discuss when Catherine’s nails skim down her chest--her breasts--her hips.

 _You make me human, Catherine_.  

When Catherine’s hand buries inside of her like a restless coffin, Kara’s hips arching off of the bed to desperately meet her, there’s a feeling that settles in her chest and never goes away, peace and resolution finding a home instead of overwhelming loss--sadness.

It’s something Kara won’t understand until she’s already lost her, fingers covered in paint as a brush skims along canvas, painting this breath--this moment--when both of them come undone and she still sees the tears in Cat’s eyes, green like the kryptonite of a planet that’s collapsed inside of itself.

When both of their bodies have nothing left to say, Catherine falls asleep on the still frame of her shoulder, Kara’s arms wrapped around her waist. Kara can see her--can see all of her--and the sound of the city fades underneath the familiar warmth of breath against her skin. Thousands of people outside a curtain-drawn window--outside these four walls of solitude and rumpled sheets--outside this bedroom and Catherine Grant. There’s a city who looks to the skies everytime a bird flies, curious to catch a glimpse of red and blue--depending on it in their weakest moments and hating it in their best--and Kara skims fingers along the soft, familiar edges of Catherine’s jaw.

She paints her with fingertips, loving and quiet, until the older woman stirs, thoughtlessly pressing closer into warmth and solid arms, and Kara has to fight the burn in her throat, again.

The city is larger than either one of them.

She untangles limbs and bends knees over the edge of a bed, feeling Catherine stir, again--feeling fingers gently brush along the small of her back, encouraging and quiet. Lips skim along her shoulder, easing the weight on top of it for only a moment.

“We’re doing the right thing, _mon oisillon._ “ Arms wrap around Kara’s waist and she’s reminded that this isn’t only her difficult decision, leaning back into them, turning around to cup a cheek and catch the faintest hint of doubt in green, thumbs swiping underneath eyes. Remembering the way Cat seemed so full of life hours before. 

Happy.

Kara idly wonders if Cat just picked one of the languages they shared off of her resume at random, or if she's heard her singing showtunes in the faint hour of the morning while going over the schedule for the day. It doesn't really seem all that important, either way, just another fact shared in secret smiles between them.

“I know.” And she does, that’s why it’s so hard. Catherine Grant is unfortunately usually right in a way that has seen businesses triumphant and employees shattered. Supergirl needs to survey the streets and she wants to remember the gentle smile on Cat’s lips when she does, voice teasing and eyes bright, “ _Mon chaton._ ”

Cat shoves her shoulder so hard she might fall out of the bed if she was wearing glasses, instead just laughing when a hand meets a barely-bending wall, her laughter caught by a soft kiss. “You’re not calling me that.” Her voice is pointed despite her smile, arms wrapping around a neck, “You’re not cute.” Teeth gently tug a lip.

“I can be a little cute sometimes, can't I?” Kara argues, pouting just enough for Cat to catch it, pushing her back down onto the bed, groaning as fingers rake down her shoulders to curve in hips, a shiver trailing down her spine. Humor clear in her voice as she laughs, making a production of groaning in a different way, now: "I try so hard."

“If you have to tell people you’re cute, you’re not cute.” It’s a scoff, eyes a brilliant showcase of fireflies as Cat wordlessly reaches up to unclasp the only thing she’s left wearing, reaching up to wrap it gingerly around Kara’s neck, instead, eyes seeming to watch the way a silver bangle catches the light of another necklace that never leaves.

“I can come after,” Teeth bite at the corner of lips, nervous and quiet, knowing a second morning has almost come and wishing more than she knows to voice that they could greet it together.

“Come for breakfast in my office.” Cat offers, instead, fingers skimming along the necklace--reaching up to brush hair out of eyes before she bends, stretching underneath flexing arms to hold an unsuspecting pair of black frames ransom, winking. “I’ll give you back these.”

"Oh. A trade." A breathless laugh, leaning down to kiss her, lips lingering and heart aching in a way that’s becoming its constant state, pressing a small body into the bed with regret and understanding. "So I'm still officially off-work?" 

"After you find me an assistant I won't want to throw off the balcony." 

"Ms. Grant," A hint of genuine scolding enters her tone, earning an eye roll, "Without Lucy on the payroll anymore, it might be best to avoid manslaughter charges before I can settle into my new office." 

"Then choose lawyer or make sure she arrives promptly with coffee that's better than yours." Manslaughter shouldn't be a winking matter, but Cat Grant almost makes it look like a stylish aside in  _Vogue_ from the tip of her lips, "Breakfast, Kara."

It’s not just the morning that Kara loves her and if there’s any consolation to be found, feeling Cat’s fingers skim along a strangled heart with manicured nails that curl into unbreakable skin like Catherine’s trying to figure out how to keep Kara here with the strength of a weak, flexing hand, Kara isn’t alone.

When Kara pulls back, she shouldn’t feel lighter, but she does, both of them sharing a smile.

“It’s a date.” Breathless and happy and quiet and Cat’s eyes are far too light for the half-hearted chide to be taken seriously:

“Kara.”

A woosh of air flutters the pillows--dances hair into Cat’s eyes that she has to uselessly blow away--and Kara spares a lingering glance for her outside of the window, blue and red blocking the light from the city as Cat casually saunters up to the window, glasses hanging by a black arm from fingers. A smile so clearly brightening her features like a lamp likely will in a few moments--knowing Cat will likely tuck a book in her lap until the early hours of the morning--will wait until Kara calls her for her shoulders to relax and for sleep to guide her--but the girl takes the moment that a hero can’t, raising her hand in a soft goodbye.

Cat presses her free hand against the window Kara had once-more closed on her way out (it’s only polite), that borrowed pair of lead glasses held protectively by a hip. A safe haven for them, at least. Until Kara comes home.

There’s no declarations--there’s a rule, now--but there doesn’t need to be words when Cat meets her eyes, both of their jaws barely trembling before Kara flies into the night sky, knowing the faintest click in an apartment will sound the faint flood of a desk lamp illuminating the light.

She’s had a lifetime of letting go, but it’s impossible to let go of something that she’s never had a grip on in the first place and she grips this tightly--she grips it with nails and teeth and promises to herself that will fall on deaf ears, when the time comes--because Catherine’s right.

None of this matters, not to Kelly.

Not for the first time, her fingers itch to call the first speedial on her phone--to listen to her sister grumble underneath dark eyes and burdens of her own--but Kara shoots into the clouds, instead. Underneath the beacon of hope for National City--a crest of a family long-forgotten that, at times, Kara feels too burdened to bear--a filled list sits against her heart, guidelines to protect the people below her as much as they are to keep two people a reasonable distance apart. When her phone does ring, she sees a simple text and is thankful to spot a robber down the street, the clock ticking 12:01 underneath a familiar, easy smile she'd captured hours ago brandishing a spatula, the name  _Catherine_ more of a shield than her family crest.

**_72 hours, Kara._ **

She swoops down to step between a man and a purse--why do they always try to steal purses, anyways?--watching the woman immediately let go in relief as the robber backpedals towards her, unknowingly slamming into the brick wall of her shoulders.

"Hey, why don't you pick on someone your own...size?" Brows knit because he's significantly taller, whirling around to look down at her with wide eyes. "Or like...don't pick on someone your own size and pick on me. Or..." A wince, "Just stop with the picking. Okay? I'm sorry," She whispers towards the frightened woman who wisely backs behind her, as well, watching over Supergirl's shoulder as she plucks the strap of a purse from the nameless robber's hand and tries not to break the leather, eyes catching the sight of a picture inside with two smiling faces. "I'm new at this whole...quippy one-liners thing? I'll work on it, I pro--Hey!" A pout rises at the feeling of a hand punching her chest, the howl of the robber cracking against the night as it connects. And doesn't budge. Even she can frown in sympathy at the sound of his hand shattering. "Ma'am, why don't you go into that coffee shop around the corner. Okay, buddy, you're already having a tough night. Why don't I just drop you off to the authorities instead of you breaking anything else, okay?" It's a gentle shush, patting his shoulder as he howls, cupping his hand, eyes flicking around the corner. She's surprised as he seems to be when he nods, picking him up by the back of his jacket as she watches the frightened citizen disappear into the nearby coffee shop and flies towards the nearest police station.

He whimpers and she hesitates outside of it, setting him down on a nearby roof.

72 hours. 

"Hey, robber...guy. Why'd you do it?" It hurts a little that he looks so petrified of her--that so many people in this city look so petrified of her, backing up against a nearby air conditioner that rattles and hums in disdain at the new weight, the man gingerly cupping his hand. "Hey...hey it's okay. I promise I won't hurt you. Let me look at that, okay?" He's shaking and she raises up both hands to placate, "I just want to know what happened. What's your name?"

"J-" He might think better of it, still curling his hand up by his chest and she sighs.

"Please." For once, it's her thousand-watt Kara Danvers smile that persuades someone instead of the crest and she watches his resolve crumble.

"Josh. Josh Clay."

"Can I see?" She bends over, still smiling, and it must be enough because his hand sags with a sharp nod, holding it up to her, "Josh." Sure enough, one glance shows it's practically shattered and she reaches into her boot where she's gotten into habit of keeping gauze and wrap. 

If bullets bounce off of her, after all, they ricochet, and as careful as she always tries to be, she can never be too careful. Besides, people have a habit of breaking their hands on her face.

"I needed the money." His voice is gruff as she starts to splint the broken mess of bones, as careful as she can. 

"Enough to take it from someone who deserved it?" He shifts at her tone and she reaches up a hand to keep him in place, "Did you know she had kids? Do you even care?"

"How'd you know?" Wide shoulders sag a bit and she's reminded that he was just shaking in pain a few minutes ago, eyes assessing as he leans into metal and old city air.

"Inside her purse she had a picture of her kids. And nothing else. No money. So...why?" She presses.

Longer time than even she expects passes between them, but she waits--waits and listens as patient as she can be--and is surprised when Josh actually tells her. 

He opens up into the kind of story Alex would laugh at and Cat would scoff at--tells her of his broken family and little options--of going to jail and the cycle of being trapped. Josh tells her how he doesn't really have a reason other than not knowing what else to do for himself, that he'd fallen in with a gang and just did what he was told. At least that way he had some direction. A quick text to Vasquez inquiring about his priors at the start of the story and a response at the end clues Kara in that he's telling the truth and determination settles in her chest.

It's not outside of the realm of possibility--what would Kara have become had she not found Alex and the Danvers--not had the D.E.O giving her orders but someone darker, instead--and she can't help the sympathy. 

Josh talks to her with a story to tell and Kara finds a quiet purpose in wanting to be the person to tell it--to give him a voice and a hope not from her superpowers, but from what authority comes with her name. The authority that comes from being Kara Zor-El Danvers.

"But a job--" It's a curious question, gentle and trying to stay free of judgment, raising up a hand to pacify when he recoils. "I'm just asking."

"I can't even find a job, when I do...I don't keep it. And I..." He hesitates. "I don't know if I'd want to anyways." It quakes and Josh looks off into the horizon like someone who's never had anything to look towards in the city as Kara finishes bandaging his hand before gently opening up, herself. 

"Sometimes it's hard to think of starting over. Especially when everyone looks at you like you're dangerous. I had to, you know," It's a quiet admittance, "Start over. And everyone here was scared of me. I mean, you'd think all aliens were criminals from the way I--" She trails off, laughing a little bit at the look on Josh's face. "Ignore that. I can see you feel the same way. That's okay. I understand--I do--we can be dangerous. We can be a very reasonable showcase of the fears of the unknown. I don't hate people for it, not anymore. Maybe I did when I was a kid. But...not anymore." It's gentle and understanding, a crippled image of broken bones always present in the back of her mind. She is dangerous. "Do you know the reason I asked? Why you did it?" He shrugs. 

"I wish you'd just drop me off at the fuckin' police station and get it over with. Who gives a fu--"

"Because you don't have to do it. Because I believe everyone can change, Josh. You could make the world a better place instead of listening to some gang you don't even want to be in. You could keep children like you from falling into a life of violence and crime. Everyone has a talent," She smiles, leaning back to pat her knees, "Yours is...obviously not being all that great at stealing purses." 

Josh huffs out of his nose at that. 

"Let me help you, Josh." She tries, "I'll vouch for you." 

"Why?" There's a hint of anger there, then. At someone who's been left behind and survived despite and because of it. "Why the hell would you--"

"Josh." It's gentle and consoling, "It won't hurt _me_ if you fall back into that whole...cycle. If you wind back up in jail, or wind up stealing, the only person you'll hurt will be yourself. I'm offering you a second chance. You already messed up today and...I'm not going to take you to jail. I'm going to take you to a hospital and then give you a number to call someone I work with who can help you find a job. And, yes, I will vouch for you. If you stop being such an ass. Person." It's said with a wide smile, the man visibly flattened by the language, but fourteen years a Danvers.... "Whether or not you turn your life around and decide to start helping people--making the world a better place instead of the one that abandoned you--that's up to you."

"Aren't you like your cousin? Truth, Justice, and the American fucking way and all that? He'd never let me go. Superman's not a pussy." He recoils a little, like he's hesitant to accept the offer, at all. She, surprisingly, snorts at the vulgarity of it, imagining Kal-El's face at the simultaneous insult and compliment. She's heard herself called way worse over the past year.

She's still not really all that over Skirt.

And when she looks at a broken, bandaged hand, Kara can remember is the way Astra's fingers curled into her shoulders. 

"Well, neither am I. A...you know. And you could try to stop using such demeaning language towards women, Josh. Come on. I'm right here." She gestures downwards, shifting a little from her hunched stance and, surprisingly, Josh offers what might be a shrug of apology. "And oh, boy, yeah, he'd--Superman--he would drop you off in a cell in a heartbeat." A breath, eyes skimming along the tar of a roof because even now the taste of red is still on her tongue. Even underneath the taste of Catherine, which she remembers and breathes and might hold onto during her weakest moments, there's still the memory of how delicious  _red_ tasted against smirking, free, hating lips. "But I'm not my cousin, Josh. I've...done things I'm not proud of, too."  

She's not Kal-El, at all.

"I doubt that." His eyes look down at his knees. "But, y'know...maybe...you're not all that bad, Supergirl. Not like everyone says."

That makes her smile wider than it should, turning around to catch the light of the sky slowly rising, feeling it in her bones before she feels it on her skin.

"Thanks, Josh. I try. I really do." A breath, knees tucking up to her chest and elbows resting upon them as she casually leans up to the hopefully ex-purse-snatcher like it's just another Monday. Because it is. "Everything's changing, you know, Josh." It's a whisper as she watches the sun come up, no sleep in her chest despite the lack of it for the past two days, sitting here greeting Monday next to her broken (hopefully rehabilitated) friend instead of dancing smiles against Catherine's shoulder. It's where she should be, and this just cements it. If she'd never left, Josh wouldn't have had a chance, and that woman would have lost the picture of her children that she keeps so close to her chest. Idly, fingers raise up to a neck--to two necklaces dangling as she greets the morning. "I know you don't know me or what I'm talking about or..." A sigh.  "I'm just not good with change." 

"None of us are, lady." Josh grumbles, shoulders a little easier as he settles next to her and she turns to see a small smile on his lips as the sun gently traces up his chin, a painting of muted blacks and grays and reds, "It's just human." 

"Yeah," She laughs, a quiet, broken sound as she hears her phone buzz, eyes settled towards Sol with no fear of being blinded, remembering the way lips had brushed over the ridge of her shoulder underneath the cover of night. It's enough to straighten her back. "I guess it is. Come on," Once the sun is fully up she offers him her hand as an equal instead of a criminal, nodding towards the horizon, "Let's get you to that hospital." 

"About fucking time." Josh grunts but takes it and when he smiles Kara sees something that Cat Grant swears hangs on the edge of a crest, but is truthfully right here. In between unbroken hands and resolute fingers and a new start--a potential for change--a second-chance.

A choice.

Kara sees _hope_ , and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a personal headcanon of mine that Kara has used the guise of human drunkenness to sing karaoke more than one time before in her life without having to face repercussions the next morning. 
> 
> Also, yes, for any nerds out there, that is *that* Joshua Clay. But a reminder that this is Earth-38 people, not Earth-2.  
> \--  
> No Kryptonian Translations today, folks. Sorry! But how about some french?
> 
>  _ **Mon oisillon**_ translates to "my bird" (commonly used as 'my little bird.)
> 
>  _ **Mon chaton**_ translates to 'my cat' (or, more appropriately, my 'kitten' or 'kitty')


	6. Ehrosh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to miss you.” Is all she says and Kara knows, even though Cat doesn’t say it, that twenty-two people have marched out of the door not just because they weren’t qualified, but because Catherine’s going to miss her, too.
> 
> “That,” Catherine whispers instead, voice quiet as she looks up, but Kara just fidgets with glasses, gaze resolute on a lap instead of greeting her, “Would be a...decidedly less idiotic thing to say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day come and gone and I'm apparently completely content to do one rule per day in the fic, now. (Because of this, I know this might read as a bit of filler, but I promise, the next chapters will have far more going for them. These things do have to be established). 
> 
> Also, a note, this story _does_ loosely follow S1/S2 canon (no S3 canon because I haven't seen it) but as you might've noticed, I've taken one hell of a liberty with the timeline of it all, so some things will never perfectly slot with canon.
> 
> I also want to take a second to just thank all of you so much for all of your overwhelming support. This fandom has been seriously great--you are all Grade A++--and I seriously (seriously, have I stressed that enough?) want to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for all of your feedback. I don't spend a lot of time comparing myself to others (if I did, I'd go crazy) so I'm unsure how this stacks up to other fics out there, but it means the world to me. This chapter officially marks this fic eclipsing my other most popular work on this site so...I'm just humbled. Seriously.
> 
> Final note for the only Kryptonian word in this chapter (translation in the end) I'll...explain the significance of this word a _lot_ more as this fic goes on. It does hold a good bit of significance, though, so just a heads up for any time it's ever mentioned.

The new rules are all ones they break.

\--

**Rule #44. This relationship will not get in the way of our careers. Or our duties.**

Kara hasn’t slept in three days, now, by the time she feels the sun warm the tip of her nose, eyelashes fluttering closed as she rests elbows along a familiar railing, enjoying the faintest cool of steel along free skin, pink cardigan draped as it flutters in the twilight wind. The fabric hangs perilously over the streets of National City with (likely) no fear of death and lazy fingers run along the shine of a watch, white gold catching in the office light around the corner, early risers slowly starting to fill the city, but blue focuses on the lost time to a planet that no longer needs it, a small smile on lips. The Earth and the people on it haven’t quite been warmed by Sol, yet, and Kara likes moments like these, watching the sun rise over Catherine Grant’s kingdom like the start of _Lion King_ (Cat would probably glower at the comparison to a very masculine cartoon cat for more than one reason) because everything the sun touches is most assuredly hers, here, the office quiet as Kara waits, a lukewarm latte curling steam tendrils into the sky like clouds. She'd gotten it before Noonan's opened, a rare treat, and the smell of it still warms the back of her throat.

It was odd to sit at such an empty desk, pictures of her family replaced by a thin sheen of dust that Kara had meticulously wiped any trace of away before Cat could order her to burn it. And it was even odder to stare at such an empty white room, those same pictures (Alex and Eliza their first Thanksgiving she’d visited from college--Winn and James and Clark last year signing her cast--a tucked picture of J’onn once in her desk wrinkling his nose over the rim of a beer their first night at that new-to-them alien bar) shoved into a banker’s box she hasn’t had the heart to unpack, yet. So Kara Danvers, as she always does on mornings like these, finds herself here, instead. Blue eyes taking in the sights of the city without the necessity of patrolling it, listening to her coworkers slowly meander into the office one by one by one. It’s Monday and their feet drag slower than they had Friday, so long ago.

Three days feels kind of like a lifetime of memories, the sort of thing that thoughtlessly tease a smile among the mist of her coffee, but the day goes on.

Violet spills coffee on her desk at 5:32. Down the street, a dog pitter-patters down asphalt, dragging a very sleepy mop of college hair along with it at 6:03. Brad trips over the edge of the water cooler at 6:44 with a very loud string of choice curses. And at 7:03 the downstairs private elevator dings and Kara pops the lid on a cup. At 7:04 metal slides open and heels click, and eyes flash red over the city, latte boiling, steam greeting the risen sun. At exactly 7:05, she hears those resolute heels stop outside of a wide set of open doors--hears nails drum along a desk--and it’s at 7:06 that Kara turns around against the balcony, fingers moving up to adjust glasses that aren’t there out of habit before they uselessly fall to her side, happy to take in the sight of arching eyebrows underneath sunglasses, instead, when she finds her.

Cat doesn’t look surprised to see her current assistant leaning so casually against the balcony with the offering, but the quietest breath leaving parted lips says more than surprise might and Kara wordlessly crosses the distance to deposit a Styrofoam cup in a waiting hand, their fingers brushing as she does.

“A promotion and suddenly you can’t tear her away from an office with a view. Not that there's any blame, I'm sure that fire is in your belly, now," Her heels click like the tick of a watch as Cat follows her to the balcony, "Always set the eyes higher than your feet and the only way you'll go is up.” The latte is tipped back, the quietest hum in the back of a throat as Kara once more leans against the railing next to a forgotten cardigan, smiling as Cat’s hip pins the soft fabric in place. “This is an interesting definition of breakfast.”

“I have interviews this morning.” Kara reminds, “Though I _hear_ , get this, that _this?_ ” She waves towards the cup with a happy smile, “ _Is_ the hottest trend for breakfast in celebrity circles.”

“As the largest celebrity in any of your little circles, Kara,” There’s the faintest hint of lips twitching at the edges, “I’m doubtful you heard anything.” Cat tips up the cup like eyes are constantly looking for the angle in the shape of a circle, examining the bottom before she sips it, “Caffeine--practically no calories--a diuretic--warm enough to scald the tongue so that no one has to taste how absolutely bitter their lives are? Coffee  _has_ always been the preferred food group for every celebrity watching their waist. Old news.”

“Why, Ms. Grant, did you just admit your latte is hot?” It’s dangerously close to openly teasing, warm as the sun starts to heat the back of bare shoulders, heat filling the void sleep has left.

“Consider it a pitying parting gift for your last day.” Cat smirks around the lid and something about it--something about watching her smile over the rim of the last cup Kara will officially hand her in the early rays of the morning, makes breath catch against the edge of her teeth like a dart hanging on by its tip in the edge of a bullseye. And she’s so glad, in this moment, that she’s watching Catherine without the glare of glass in front of her eyes. Sun paints golden frames of hair around those expensive black sunglasses like how Sol dances around storm clouds hundreds of miles into the sky and Kara has the strongest urge to paint Catherine, too, before she quietly reaches up to even their playing field. Sure fingers gently--boldly--slide those glasses down flaring nostril to watch the way Cat’s gaze softens in the morning sun before she leans up to kiss her.

This is how Kara wants to start her first last day--how she wants to start her last first day in a handful of hours--wants to start every day, even, just like this. Because Cat tastes like coffee and lipstick and sunshine and Kara sleepily leans up to it like a flower bending its withering stalks in a slithering dance, desperate to soak just a hint of that warmth in.

“I’m a lucky girl.” Kara reaches up to wordlessly unclasp the necklace--expensive and tasteful and never something she would buy--hanging proudly about her neck, feeling Cat’s smile spread against her mouth in this safe little corner of a balcony when Kara transfers the token back to its rightful place, the sound of a click lost underneath a happy sigh. “I’ll take all the pity I can get, Ms. Grant.”

“Pity is the most agreeable feeling among those who have little pride and no prospects of great conquests.” Cat quotes, once more leaning a hip against the balcony’s railing like their lips never brushed, at all, but the way fingers trace along the line of a necklace now on her neck--like Catherine's memorizing the feel of it with her smile?--that’s enough for Kara to know it wasn’t just in her imagination. “You’re in no need of pity, _Ms. Danvers._ Today is your day.”

“ _Ms. Danvers_ will be here the moment she can see you without having to intentionally ignore the bathroom down the hall out of the corner of her vision.” It’s a joke but there is a slow realization--a settling fact of how new this openness is--that Cat might not know that at all, shrugging as Kara leans closer without the burden of any single identity weighing down the bridge of a nose or the weary stock of shoulders, “Nietzche.” Teeth bite a lip after placing it at the practical twinkle in dark eyes, “If you’re having a philosophical morning, I’ll have to reschedule your 8 o’clock with Brian until he has a chance to drink another cup of coffee. He tripped over the water cooler this morning and doesn't exactly seem like he is in the mood to keep up with your undeniably…sharp. Wit.”

“The watercooler?” Cat chuckles a little under her breath, taking another long, slow sip, steam dancing in front of bright eyes, “It’s a pitch morning, Kara. Given how much he likes waving around that little worm between his legs in my pen, he probably tripped over  _t_ _hat_ and the water cooler caught his fall. Besides,” Cat waves a hand, “If anyone in this building could keep up with my sharp wit, they would be the ones with a worldwide sensation to their name.”

“Or you would promote them and keep them closer. You would never let them work for a competitor.” Kara’s nose wrinkles, “And I’m...definitely not talking about me. That sounded like I was talking about me, didn’t it? I keep…” A hint of a disbelieving, bashful laugh, “Forgetting I’m promoted. I mainly meant James.”

“Ignoring how blatantly dismissive it is to suggest that you’ve forgotten the biggest opportunity in your career, The Art of War _is_ the Art of Business.” It's a tsk but Cat leans forward, a finger barely brushing along the crease between blonde brows. The world fades away for the smallest breath at the feeling and Kara leans into it because it’s so difficult to focus when she hasn’t slept--it’s so difficult to keep all of her senses in check around Catherine, at all, the lack of sleep really does not help--and her eyes flutter closed in a longing, quick exhale of breath. “Don’t fish for compliments, Kara, it’s not becoming.”

“I’m not--I wouldn’t--” Kara's eyes snap open and she notices the smirk a second too late, “Hey, stop teasing me. What happened to pitying me on my last day?”

“It was like one of those college-age passing fancies. Like bell bottoms, bangs, or Elizabeth Berkley’s acting talent. There one moment,” Cat hums, hand dropping from a brow even as her eyes slit in mirth, “Gone the next. If I didn’t think you could keep up with my sharp wit, Kara, I wouldn’t be _happily_ entertaining you on my balcony with an empire to run.”

“You just said that anyone--”

“Well you’re not _in_ the building, are you?”

Kara has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from beaming at Cat’s knowing, almost dangerously sincere look, a hint of a blush rising more than just warmth on her cheeks.

“Well I did tell you I wouldn’t come here alone, anymore.” And it hits her, then, that this is her last day. That change clings to the air between them thick and imminent, clouds only able to hold so much rain before it falls. “Thank you. For actually telling me that instead of letting me assume. It’s so nice to hear, Cat.”

The only response is a hum and they both look out over the city for only one more passing moment, shoulders leaning and brushing and settling before Kara sighs, duty once more overtaking the quiet happiness in her throat.

“It’s 7:21.” Because the world turns with or without them, but Kara is fairly certain it will have difficulty turning without Cat Grant and her looming, impressive schedule--meetings and changes--and there’s still 42 rules resting against her chest that need to be handled before she can pass them on to the next person lucky enough to treasure them.

“It’s strange, then, that my assistant isn’t here.” A noise of acknowledgement rumbles, Cat quietly reaching into the inner pocket of her own blazer. Funnily enough, it rests right over a steadily-beating heart, and the symbolism isn’t lost on a girl who will feel lost in the building behind them in a few minutes. Kara really should sleep--she gets so nostalgic and metaphorical when she doesn’t. “She’s never late. I’d hate to regret promoting her.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Kara smiles, “I’d say you were worried.”

“My next assistant won’t hire themselves. But, and I’ll never admit this, there is a hint of worry. This current one is so _fragile_ ,” A thin set of black glasses reveals itself in long fingers, resting at home in Cat’s upturned palm, “Last time she was unexpectedly absent from work, the girl wound up with a piece of a space station plummeting into her skull from our atmosphere. Which, really, explains so many of her fashion choices after. Brain damage is a finicky thing.”

Kara rolls her eyes and snatches the glasses with a good-humored glare.

“That sounds painful, having a space station slam into your skull. Maybe you should be _considerate_ of your assistant’s experience and _budget_ \--”

“Not as painful as being without decent coffee for weeks.” Cat cuts her off with a wave of the wrist and Kara slides the glasses on the bridge of her nose, reaching out to steady herself around a wrist--feeling the pulse thud in familiarity against her fingers--and when blue flutters open, a curious look is there to greet her. Kara lets a slow breath out through her teeth as her vision focuses on shining eyes and smirking lips. And there's Catherine. All just Catherine. “Well considering this latte is hot, maybe I’ll hire _you_.”

“Have your assistant set up an interview. I hear she has _puh-lenty_ of those to do today. What’s one more?”

They share a small smile, Cat’s fingers curling around Kara’s--squeezing--before striding back into an office, tipping back the last of her latte and discarding it into the trash with a determined flick of fingers.

Kara ruefully takes in the gesture and has a sinking suspicion that her boss will likely do that to several of the candidates before they even have a chance to open their mouths. 

“I’ll do that.” Cat leans over her desk, eyes intent on an empty one, and Kara is glad to take in the small moment without having to focus--without having to blur the whole world behind her vision--a happy sigh on her lips as her boss bellows out-- “ _KIERA._ ”

It’s probably a little weird to be bittersweet about this most of all and a laughter rumbles happily--painfully--on her lips before she disappears in a blur.

Nineteen seconds later she appears in an opening elevator down the hall with a tablet, shuffling glasses on her nose and beaming in the doorway with a soft knock and a second latte (she might have made it herself with a particularly large tip left in a flutter of paper in Noonan's jar), happy to see that the smile on Catherine’s lips matches.

“Yes, Ms. Grant?”

Cat wordlessly holds up a pink cardigan, not bothering to look up from her desk.

“Oh, look. You decided to grace us with your presence. The world doesn’t wait for you to give a Queen’s speech on your last day, Kiera. My schedule and then a little birdy informed me you have interviews. Chop-chop.”

Kara nods, very serious--pursed lips and all of the laser-eyes without the lasers--as she taps the blunt edge of a stylus on her tablet, sparing only a moment to wink at her boss before crossing the distance and grabbing her cardigan, sliding it over shoulders the moment she’s far enough inside to hide the gesture. “Consider it chopped, Ms. Grant. I won’t let you down.”

“Oh, no.” Cat’s lips tug up at one edge as she slides a silver pair of glasses on her nose, snapping her desk closed with a resolute thud, a pair of sunglasses safely tucked inside. “I’m sure you won’t.”

\--

 **Specifically: Our duties or careers will stay** **separate** **from this relationship.**

After the fifteenth interview, Kara doesn’t even remember any of their names, after the _twenty-second_ , she doesn’t care that she’s openly slamming her head on her desk repeatedly, a small dent working its way into wood.

“ _Come on, it can’t be that hard, I know Cat’s standards are anal, but y--are you hammering?_ ” Alex’s confused voice asks on the other line. “ _What the hell is that--_ ”

“No.” _Thud_ . “I.” _Thud._ “Am.” _Thud. “_ **_Dying_ ** , Alex. No hammer.” She punctuates it with two more thuds on the desk and a groan, lifting her head back up to drag an exhausted hand down sinking features, a slow-withering sigh physically tugged out of lips with it. “Twenty-two interviews. Twenty. Two. Do you know how quickly interviews are started and then suddenly  _over_ in order to have twenty-two of them in a day, Alex? In _six hours_? How in the _world_ was I ever hired?”

“ _I don’t know. Maybe you were just_ **_qualified_ ** ?” Alex’s shrug is visible in her tone and Kara scoffs because despite the two and a half years of stories (many of which her sister doesn’t even know--the important ones Alex doesn't _know--_ and that might settle guilt deep in a clenching chest) her sister still doesn’t get how Cat Grant’s mind works.

Then again, Kara really isn’t sure she gets it, either. Cat’s mind is a beautiful, brilliant, terrifying place. But, having been trapped in her own mind and almost dying from it, once, Kara isn’t sure she can throw any stones in that glass house. 

What would a black Mercy's tendrils curl up her throat, now? A world where she knew what she wanted where her sister laughed along her shoulder with no hate or reserve or guilt while Cat danced fingers along her knees over pictionary or Smartass or even just a round of Uno? 

Would the guilt be worse if it wasn't Krypton, at all?

A blink, realizing the world has gone on despite the pause of her mind, a muffled exhale on the other line.

She really has to sleep. She gets so weird when she doesn't  _sleep._

_“--met Cat’s ridiculous standards, or something? Aced the interview. Maybe you were just freakishly articulate for once.”_

“Qualified? Hah. No. Opposite. Cat--” Kara sighs because she doesn’t want to get into why Cat hired her, a tangled mess of complicated, “Nevermind. Ignore the me part. All of these interviewees are from top Ivy-League schools. The last one was the president’s aide, Alex. The president. The _cool democratic pro-alien president._ ”

Alex whistles and Kara groans. Another thud.

“ _Okay, whatever that is, please stop. Hangover._ ”

“Right, sorry.” Kara’s chin tips back, instead, eyes skimming along the ceiling, wishing she could have whatever that hangover is. Maybe not the headache or the parched lips or the--what were the rest of the symptoms? Anxiety and grumpiness and moodswings if Alex and Cat were any indication--but she would take the alcohol part in a heartbeat on a day like this.

“ _You’re trying to ostrich yourself into your desk, aren’t you?”_ Alex sighs and Kara offers a sheepish smile to her phone.

“Maybe.”

 _“Look, it will be fine. Stop stressing over your replacement. You should be focusing on your own future anyways, right? Have you thought any more about the big job? I kn--oh._ ” A pause and superhearing doesn’t mean much through the feedback of a phone, Kara’s brows knitting as a familiar rough voice changes--shifts--hardening almost imperceptibly around edges. “ _Shit, okay, lunch is over. I’ve got to go--look, you’re gonna be great, okay?”_

“Do you need--” Kara’s brows immediately knit in concern, fingers curling around a phone, because there’s one job she actually has a grasp on.

 _“No, the highly trained professionals who have dedicated their lives to the training and execution of this will be just fine. I’m not letting you use me as an excuse to not do your job. What’s a little Extra-Normal activity next to an explosive Cat Grant?_ ” It’s teasing and Kara smiles and knows--she just knows--that Alex can probably hear it. “ _Love you._ ”

“Love you, too. Be safe. Give me a call if you--”

 _“Always._ ”

A click of the line and Kara looks around this too-big white office ( _her_ too-big white office), thuds her head on her desk one more time, and then drags herself up with all of the superhuman strength she can muster. Somehow she manages to keep herself from dragging her feet all the way across the 40th floor, even somewhat _confident_ as she pushes open familiar doors to offer a brown paper bag and a quiet, withering sigh the moment the glass is closed behind her, blinds flicked shut. The confidence lasts for two more seconds before Kara all but collapses onto a nearby sofa, starting to feel the effects of little sleep, and knowing dark eyes don’t look up for even a breath from the documents binding the legal intricacies of CatCo in ink and jargon.

“The president’s _aide_ , Catherine.” She pitifully groans after a few minutes of silence, wallowing in her own misery.

“Olivia doesn’t hire her own aide, just fires them. They're a glorified go-boy. Given the fact that she’s still running large in her little wonder woman go-go boots in the big W, I’m assuming he was _fired_. So there’s likely a reason that failure was applying _here_ and I’m certain whoever hired _that_ waste of off-rack Men’s Warehouse knockoffs is an absolute idiot.” Cat still doesn't look up, but her tone says enough. 

Yet Kara Danvers is nothing if not idiotically insistent.

“That would be the HR head of Olivia Marsdin, the _president’s_ ,” Kara asserts, too tired to focus on one of many name drops from Cat’s lips--like they were sorority sisters or dorm mates in college, or something. Kara’s still not over the time her boss so  _casually_ dropped the fact that Cat apparently spent a series of weekends with Jackie Kennedy, dropped while Kara was discussing the cafeteria downstairs. She's fairly certain (as Cat does with all things) that she does this on purpose. “Cabinet? As in the presidential senior staff? President. I know I’m kind of stuck on it, but I can’t get over the word _president._ ”

“Have you learned nothing from working in journalism, Kara,” Cat drawls, not looking up from the paper on her desk as she pops open the brown bag gesturing towards it as she reads, “A high-ranking political official isn’t immune to idiocy. The egotistical nature of politics practically _demands_ a touch of idiocy to even be qualified, it’s a marvel Olivia’s immune of it. Well...occasionally. You have to ignore her choice in husbands. That man is an _asshole_ _." Grumbling, "_ It's almost fitting that he's the representation of our First Man of Office.”

Kara searches her face for a few moments before crossing the distance, settling down in a chair, rifling out both of their lunches for the day with a sigh. And she tries, she really does, before crumbling:

“So there’s no chance I can get an extension on the--”

“Unless the dog ate your homework, absolutely not.”

A mouth on the cusp of arguing snaps shut in favor of not crossing the invisible lines so delicately charted with invisible ink and Kara hands Cat her sandwich, instead, their eyes meeting over foil, shoulders sagging as she quietly asks, “And what..." A breath, "...if I choose being your assistant?”

Their fingers brush--linger--before Cat takes the offering and looks back down.

“Then I’d say _you_ would fit the bill for the aforementioned absolute idiot, or just politics, but since you can’t lie to save your life, we’ll stick with idiot.”

Kara sets the sandwich in her lap but doesn’t eat it, exhaustion sagging her shoulders--tugging down the same way her smile does for the briefest of moments before she sighs--eyes lingering on foil. Suddenly, she’s not very hungry, swallow thick as a buried noise of acknowledgement catches along the sandpaper of her throat.

“I’m going to miss you.” Is all she says and Kara knows, even though Cat doesn’t say it, that twenty-two people have marched out of the door not just because they weren’t qualified, but because Catherine’s going to miss her, too.

“That,” Catherine whispers instead, voice quiet as she looks up, but Kara just fidgets with glasses, gaze resolute on a lap instead of greeting her, “Would be a...decidedly less idiotic thing to say.”

They work in silence for the rest of lunch, Kara setting up as many interviews as she can and Cat signing documents, but somewhere in the middle of it, an errant finger stretches across the cool sea of a desk and long, slim fingers wordlessly tangle with it until their hands are lazily intertwined amidst endless stacks of white, not dropping for more than a few seconds at a time before finding their way back together. It’s a natural fit--it could be confused easily for an everyday occurrence--and just like that, not even noticing (not even _thinking_ ), stress still curling in the pit of her stomach like a restless snake as Kara’s shoulders sag and sag...but a thumb brushes along knuckles, memorizing the peaks and valleys, and Kara smiles.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jonas, what is this, a pig-eared bill for Senate?” Cat grumbles down towards the stack and Kara wordlessly leans over and calls their current head of legal with a click to a squeeze of fingers, hand dropping and watching the faintest furrow of brows slide over Cat’s features. Her boss, ever protective of her duties, nods towards the door and Kara offers a hum of acknowledgment, taking the trash with her, eyes not leaving her tablet. She pauses at the sound of a familiar ringtone halfway down the hall, immediately dropping the trash in the nearby can and turning back around on her heel, lifting it up to her ear as she makes her way back. It takes three seconds before Kara's pushing back open the doors of the office she just left before she can hear the rest of the instruction because it's time to learn how fast Supergirl really is.

Something else entirely lifts the edges of her shoulders--duty squares the line of her jaw--and if Cat was ever going to chide her, she's certain it won't be for saying goodbye before she leaves.

It's the only _unspoken_ rule they have.

“Cat--” Kara breathes over the sound of Alex’s insistent voice as her hand covers the microphone, her sister hushed and ever-calm as a torn hero leans a back against closed double doors.

Cat doesn’t stop her meeting, Jonas’ flustered voice crackling against the office through the intercom as he rushes to explain away the changes to documents Kara will never read, the practical filibuster lost to her ears, only offering a slim smile along the edge of a receiver. Cat stands to full height, blue dress catching the sun like it’s a symbol, and Kara watches her fingers clench into themselves, the only hint of understanding her lover gives.

“Catherine,” Kara’s voice isn’t loud enough to carry across the office but it is insistent as her hand drops from her phone, listening to her sister list of a series of commands to a room across the city. “I have to--”

Catherine leans over the side of the desk as Jonas keeps talking, the sound of wood creaking to a resounding thud as she pulls out glasses and wordlessly tosses them across the office, Kara catching them with a spreading smile.

“Sunglasses?” Her eyes are bright, a swallow thick in her throat as their eyes meet. “You should be more careful with your things. This is...pretty breakable.”

Cat leans down on a desk and, with an elegant pound, mutes her speaker underneath the constant torrent of Jonas’ never-ending voice.

“I’ll take  _them_ breaking over the woman of steel.” Cat notes, hands splaying over a river of white, a flutter of papers cascading along the desk as Supergirl appears outside of a 40th floor balcony a breath after, watching as an elegant hip leans, a journalist slowly turning to take the sight in with a tight smile, but a lover turning on her television with a flick of the wrist and Kara wonders how far she’ll bury herself in thumbs before she returns. “Shoo. Tick, tock.”

Kara slides the glasses inside of her pocket and sucks in a sharp breath before shooting into the sky. A few minutes later, she’s next to her cousin, both of them creating what’s sure to be a striking pose against a sea of steel, indomitable and formidable, but no match for the both of them.

Few things are.

They save the world together and Kara teases him and tugs him close and when he wraps her up in his arms and holds her tight enough that the glasses crack against her breast--holds her tighter than anyone ever could--tears cloud her vision, easily hidden in the bright light and smile, because this is the only thing she understands the rules to, anymore. This is the only job she knows how to do deep to her core.

But even the things she understands are complicated, and sure enough National City is as in love with Superman as the world is and as suffocating as it is, it’s easy to hide underneath that familiarity, because invisibility was always her most impressive superpower. Before she realizes she’s even doing it, Kara's eased into the feeling of being normal, regular, ordinary Kara Danvers behind the shadow of a flowing cape, shoulder leaning against Alex as she hands her up lunch, both of them watching Clark smile underneath Winn’s endless fanboying.

And her heart warms at the sight of that smile, because she’s missed it--she’s missed it like she’s missed watching Rao’s sunrise--and she listens to Superman and J’onn catch up like old _enemies_ (there’s a plot-twist) as she takes a bite of her second sandwich in the past hour.

“How many hours you have left?” Alex asks but doesn’t, surprisingly, push and Kara sighs around a mouthful of pastrami, wiping hands on a skirt and tossing her sister a water bottle from the nearby bag she’s been given, snapping open her own bottle a little rougher than she probably should.

“I’m sure if I look at my phone, I’ll have a countdown text from Cat I can look at for very specific reference. Two days.”

“Don’t you mean _Catherine_?” Alex smirks but still doesn’t ask--still must not know--and Kara flushes a little, nose wrinkling because she wishes she’d held onto that water bottle for a prime throwing opportunity. There's about as much point of asking if Alex overheard as there is pointing out this is her second lunch of the day--they're both givens. “Any clue, yet?”

“Nope.” Kara listens to the sound of Kal-El politely laugh and bends her head to watch, face softening at the sight of it. Alex’s hand curls around her shoulder and her swallow is thick-- _complicated_ \--eyes catching the ground before she lets out a slithering, weak sigh, a noise that only Alex’s touch could snake free. Her sister's arm immediately wraps around shoulders at the sound of it.

“You’ll figure it out. And, hey...maybe..." Alex, Kara knows, fortified her ability to _truly_ whisper underneath ever-attentive ears in their youth, "Maybe he’ll stay this time. For a while.” It’s gruff as Alex even suggests it--almost avoiding--and there’s a strangling feeling in Kara’s chest when she watches her pull away, because there’s so much distance between the closeness, now.

It’s a sea of intangible clouds Kara doesn’t know how to fly across and in this moment, Kara misses her sister more than she knows how to breathe.

“Yeah.” A hint of a laugh accompanies a slim smile and when Kara stands, she feels the broken slivers of glasses against her chest, wincing at the weight of it. “Speaking of Catherine before, though, I have... _so_ many interviews to--”

“Interviews?” Kal-El’s voice is to her left and Kara’s shoulders tense before they relax, turning around and throwing a bag of chips towards him with an easy smile, something he catches with a happy hum. They can always--always--relate to food. Even when she didn’t speak his language and he didn’t speak hers, they always got by with food. Universal grumbling language of the stomach, it turns out, is a whole lot more useful than _Interlac_.

“Yep, Kara is looking for a--uhmf--” Alex rubs at her side where Kara (not so subtly) elbows her, shooting a glare downwards, “Kara’s doing interviews for Cat, today.”

“Things still going well at CatCo, then?” His smile is all Clark but it looks so much like Jor-El that the faintest memories in the back of Kara’s throat catch, her own smile softening, standing up to greet him on more even footing. “I knew you’d be great, Kara.”

“No you didn’t.” Kara teases, “You thought Cat was going to eat me alive.”

“Well…” He clears his throat, “I was hoping you’d be great.  _Lois_ thought Cat was going to eat you alive. Can I go on record as being supportive if a little reasonably cousin worried?"

A moment later she’s offered for him to come and they’re rushing back to the office when he pats her wrist, smile practically blinding when he catches sight of the watch there as they take the elevator up.

“So you do like it? Lois said you would, but I know how tough it is to keep things...you know, not broken in our line of work.” Clark shuffles, hands nervously tucking up a messenger bag.

“Tell me about it." When she shifts, those glasses rattle and her smile doesn't outlive the tense down-turn of her lips. Until she spots the watch again. "l love it Clark. So much.”

A moment later, Clark tries his hardest to break someone _else_ as they come onto the elevator and she bites her lip, eyes bright as she teases him. That’s a feeling that becomes a little _less_ bright when Cat practically falls over herself to greet him and she sighs, the shadow of her cousin--of her home--a little colder than it was a moment before.

But Kara understands this, too.

Quietly, when Clark and Cat have disappeared around the corner, Kara snakes the broken pieces of glasses out of her pocket, setting them idly on the edge of a desk before she heads towards the stairs, glad to get coffee for all of them, anyways. She’s nearly to Noonan’s when someone bumps into her, coffee splashing against a cardigan like an erratic watercolor of browns and blacks (and heat she can't feel) and Kara barely blinks at the sensation before she remembers she should at least stumble.

The woman who's bumped into her bumbles and Kara immediately moves to catch her before she can twist an ankle on an unsteady heel, eyes bright and mortified in a way that Kara could only _ever_ relate to.

“Oh God, oh my God. I am. So. Sorry.” The girl stutters as she scrambles to pick up papers--ruined with the same coffee that’s stained a shirt--and when Kara moves to help her, glasses barely sliding down the ridge of a nose, she lets out a small, quiet laugh at the name that greets her at the top of a resume. “I was just--I’m rushing. I have an interview. I’m nervous and I wasn’t looking where I was going and--wow that coffee is hot, are you okay?”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. Really.” Kara pushes the glasses up her nose and hands the stuttering girl the papers, making sure nervous eyes meet her gaze when she promises, smile sincere and as gentle as she can be, “ _Really_. It’s just coffee.”

“Well, I can--come on.” The woman tugs her victim into a nearby bathroom without another word, wetting a paper towel like this isn’t her first rodeo and offering a sopping stack to the other blonde with a sheepish, apologetic look. “That was such a cute blouse, too.”

“Really?” Kara looks down and smiles because it’s been a long time since anyone told her anything she wore was cute. Save for Lucy.

Boy, she _really_ misses Lucy. Especially on days like today. Lucy wouldn’t have given one flying monkey about her cousin and Kara could use that sense of clarity, sometimes. That perspective. 

Lucy, Kara idly thinks, would have told her to become an HR manager, or something. A lawyer. Lucy would have told Kara to sell her strengths and her people skills with kind, shark-driven eyes. 

It doesn't fit. But Kara misses her all the same.

“Thank you.” Kara smiles and pats the girl's hands in thanks as she sets about cleaning up. “So you said you’re nervous?” It's a knowing press, leaning against the bathroom counter as she finishes soaking up the stain.

“Oh, yeah, I have this...huge interview, today. I mean, most people hear ‘executive assistant’ and don’t think it’s much but...when it’s the executive assistant to Cat Grant?” The girl laughs a little, moving to finally take in her own state of mis-dress, clucking a tongue when she catches sight of the coffee on her own blouse. “And I’ve already blown it. I mean, working with Cat Grant has been a _dream_ of mine since I was a girl--girl power, you know? She’s just...this company has done so much for me and--gosh, I’m sorry. You didn’t ask any of that.” It’s a nervous stutter, obviously flustered underneath the stress of a long day. "I'm rambling. I'm so sorry. I should really go upstairs and meet Ms. Danvers for my--"

“Well, I was going to, because," A hint of a laugh, "About that--”

The door swings open to a whistling Karen from HR, lighting up at the sight of Kara leaning against the counter covered in coffee, the current assistant offering a sheepish smile and a wave in greeting.

“Hey, Karen! How’s Liam?”

“Doing great. He loved your card. Thanks again. Going for a new record, Kara?” Karen hips open a nearby stall with a friendly smile, “I thought Milo told you to stop spilling coffee, Danvers.”  

“Well, you know me, Karen, always the overachiever.” Kara laughs a little bit before the privacy of the situation kicks in (the bathroom is a sacred, safe place on most planets, really), Karen going silent as the light of a phone cascades across the tile by her stall, Kara turning around to offer a soft smile to none other than her next interviewee: Eve Teschmacher. “Well, not that I usually conduct interviews in the bathroom, Ms. Teschmacher, but it’s a pleasure.” Kara offers with an outstretched hand after she’s washed it, eyebrows good-naturedly raising to her hairline as a look of abject horror washes over Eve’s features. "I believe you were going upstairs to meet me." 

“ _Ohgod_ ,” Eve’s fingers raise up to press over parted lips, a nervous, sheepish laughter hidden behind the digits. She groans and when she lowers the hand, there’s a hint of a wince despite her spreading smile, “ _You’re_ Kara Danvers?!” Nerves don't seem to stand in the way of politeness as she quickly rinses her hands and dries them, taking Kara’s hand with a nervous shake.

“Yeah.” Kara laughs, nose wrinkling behind glasses, “Yeah, I am, although I’m not really...used to that kind of mortification following people recognizing that. Well, I _hope_ no one's mortified when they recognize me. Hi. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hi. Wow. I am _so_ sor--”

“No, no.” It’s said with another quiet laugh, reaching down to clean to water off of her shirt with a smile and the last of her paper towels, “The number of times I have spilled things on other people in this office is kind of a running record. Milo, our very friendly and accommodating janitor, has threatened to submit me to some kind of Guinness World Record. On more than one occasion. Trust me, it’s okay.”

“Oh, you’re funny.” Eve is still nervously helping her clean up the mess, rushing to toss away a few paper towels in the trashcan. “Thank God you’re funny, I’ve been so nervous all morning. And then I ran into you and thought, ‘Oh, Eve, you went ahead and steamrolled your only chance at this job’ and...I, God, literally steamrolled  _you_ and look at you, you’re still nice and smiling and funny.”

“And so are you.” Kara notes as she plucks up the resume stained with coffee that Eve’s brought off of the counter. “Come on, let’s go up to my desk. I’ve got an extra cardigan you can use to hide your coffee stain and, well...don't worry about this." She gestures towards her own with a knowing look. "I’m not being interviewed and Cat’s used to it. Let’s finish that chat up there, okay?”

Eve looks so relieved she might cry and Kara reaches forward to squeeze her shoulder.

Karen reveals herself with a sliver of light and a nearly fond shake of the head, looking between the two of them as she emerges, making her way to the sink, grumbling, “Only you, Danvers. Seriously.”

“Hey, is that dinner still on for--” Looking between the two with a shake of the head before backing up, gesturing for Eve to follow her, “You know what? I’m suddenly in the middle of an interview, Karen, so shoot me a text, okay?”

“Yep!”

Eve is a lot calmer wearing a pink cardigan--most people are a lot calmer after they accept the worst thing that could possibly happen and embrace it--and the fact that she’s still here interviewing is more telling about the potential-assistant’s personality over any of the actual questions. Knowing that Clark is likely still hovering around an empty desk--or, worse, around Cat’s--Kara takes the interview to an office with a nod, and before she knows it, it’s her longest interview of the day.

As much as she’s complained, after all, Cat hasn’t been the only one with high standards and it's nice that it lasts longer than a few minutes.

“I mean, if you're telling me to be honest..."

"Yes, please _actually_ be honest." Kara nods.

"I’ve heard warnings. Horror stories. Is it true she made you hand-deliver fruit baskets to everyone in the company your first night here?”

“Absolutely true. For our National City office, she did not make me go to France like the rumors say. And...to be honest? All of those stories are... _probably_ true--” Kara raises a hand from the desk she’s sitting on, “In a small way. Save for that one about Cat pulling out Diane Sawyers’ heart from her chest and eating it. She doesn’t want me _telling_ people it’s not true because she thinks a little bit of fear is a good motivator, but...can I be honest with you, Eve?”

Eve laughs a little but leans closer, her fingers relaxing their hold on the skirt around her knees. “Please.”

“Catherine Grant is one of the most infuriating, demanding women I’ve ever met, but that’s why she’s so successful. Yes, sometimes she can...have ridiculous requests. She can push people past their breaking point because she demands not just their best, but perfection. Something that can be a bit of a power play, at times.” Kara concedes, “But underneath that hard exterior? Is single-handedly the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met, professionally and mentally. Her reputation precedes her and does her justice in some circumstances, but ultimately? It also fails her, as well. She’s more remarkable than the stories because--and she’ll never admit this--but every single thing Cat Grant has done and will do is for the betterment of National City. That’s her heart, Eve. To help people. So don’t let the rumors fool you.” Kara shakes her head, fingers idly brushing along the length of gold, watching the way Eve’s smile softens a little, almost hopeful around the edges.

“Well...that’s a relief.” Eve shakes her head, “I want to help CatCo make a difference. I was...hoping those rumors _weren’t_ true. But I can work with a mix.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Eve. There’s going to be nights you’re just going to want to cry. There’s going to be nights where you _do_ cry. She’s going to want to take out her moods on you and you’ll work 15 hour days just to keep up with her. You’re going to have to constantly demand more of people you never expected to be on the phone with--you’re the first line of defense for this company and the face of Cat Grant, but it will always be your job to represent her to the best of your ability, and CatCo, and that means understanding the woman underneath. That means always standing up for her, to her, and for your ideals. That...also means always being on time, always being on-call, always being prepared, and always, always,” Kara smiles, nodding down towards her shirt and the coffee, “Being kind, and honest, and apologetic when you make mistakes. Despite what people think, Cat Grant fires people for being incompetent, not having a heart, so Eve...I think, if you’re prepared to give it your all, you’re the first person out of twenty-three candidates I’ve seen today that has even a small chance of surviving this job.”

Eve laughs, disbelieving, hand raising up to her mouth for a second time in the past thirty minutes. “Really?”

“Really. I’m going to recommend you for my replacement. Obviously you still have to interview with Cat but...if I do wind up training you tomorrow morning, will you be okay with that?” Kara’s smile spreads when Eve tips her chin back with a relieved whoop of a noise. 

“Today…” Eve’s eyes are warm and kind and she’s so genuine Kara decides Cat won’t have much of a choice but to keep her, “Is the weirdest day. And I am so okay with that. I’m so excited.”

“Alright, good. Channel that, then, because we still have to survive Cat Grant.”

When Eve straightens a pink cardigan like it’s battle armor, Kara is _certain_ Cat won’t have much of a choice.

Cat never gives anything away--it’s a killer instinct that Cat swears lead to winning the celebrity poker tournament in 2006--but there’s the faintest wrinkle at the edges of her eyes as she watches Eve ten minutes later and Kara keeps her lips thin to mask her smile.

“She spilled that on you, didn’t she.” Cat drawls after all of her questions have been answered and Kara’s smile doesn’t falter.

“Yes, Ms. Grant.”

“You’re going to be obnoxiously insistent about this, aren’t you.” Her eyes slit just a little further, practically humming at the edges as she searches Eve’s face across the room, undoubtedly enjoying the way she fidgets. Cat must miss it. It’s been a good year since Cat has made Kara fidget like that.

Well, without nails digging into her thighs, anyways.

If that's counted, Cat has made Kara fidget  _a lot._

"Yes, Ms. Grant."

“Do you believe she’s capable, Kara?”

“Without a single doubt, Ms. Grant.” Kara smiles towards Eve, who lets out a hint of a relieved smile.

“Well, you’ve won over Kara Danvers, Ms. Teschmacher which, despite her sunny demeanor and penchant for wholesale polyester, is actually quite a feat and goes a long way in your favor. I’m assuming you’ve heard the rumors?”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Grant. In detail.”

“I’m assuming I naturally petrify you?” Cat hums, looking over a coffee-stained resume with a knowing glint in her eye, Kara not moving from her side.

“Oh, uh...well, yeah. Yes, Ms. Grant.” Eve admits--clears her throat--but still smiles, “But I am...absolutely excited about the opportunity and, after talking with Ms. Danvers…” The smile softens into something resolute and determined, “I have more of an understanding of what my job would entail and let me take the opportunity to tell you that I’m not only qualified, but invigorated by the prospect of being able to learn from you.”  

“Of course you are.” But Cat smiles, chair tipping back as she searches Eve across the distance and Kara makes a gesture behind her boss' back for Eve to straighten her shoulders, which the other woman thankfully does without a second thought at the direction. “Kara, get Olivia on the phone. I'm going to tell her that whoever hired that idiotic aide of hers needs to be fired in return. What a PR disaster waiting to happen. Take Ms. Teschmacher with you, perhaps she can prove herself capable of dialing with that week-overdue manicure.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant.”

Kara watches Eve mournfully looking down at her nails as she dials once they make their way out to her old (current) desk, reaching down to squeeze a fidgeting hand with a soft, knowing look and a wide smile, other hand muffling the speaker as she waits.

“Your nails look _great_ , by the way.”

Eve beams and it helps offset the shade of pale green her entire body takes when Kara clears her throat and focuses her attention back on the phone.

“Yes, Cat Grant's office, Kara Danvers on hold for the President, please. And don't ask me for a direct quote this time, Janie, because I really, really don't want to consecutively go on record or...whatever file exists at the White House phone room...as having said 'chop, chop’ so many times." Listening, "Yes, thank you. We'll hold.”

And if Eve mutters a shaken _oh I am_ ** _fucked_** underneath her breath that only superhuman ears can pick up, Kara finds it only polite to ignore because her first day here had been a string of far worse realizations and, really, there's still a small modicum of sympathy that blooms for her predecessor as she blinks owlishly at the phone when Kara clears her throat and connects Cat to the president.

Cat, who immediately starts yelling.

“Don't worry, she rarely does this.” Kara tries with a soothing smile and Eve just nods with a petrified one of her own. “...to the president.”

“Right.” Eve squeezes her hand back and Kara is just glad she's unbreakable because Eve might come close to snapping her in two. “This is absolutely okay. I'll be fine at this.”

But there's a hint of fiery resolution in the back of Eve's kind eyes that makes it easy for Kara to see a meek assistant there two and a half years ago and she pats the hand desperately trying to cut her own off.

“Yeah.” She promises, “You will be. Come on, let's go tour Noonan's. I’ll buy you a coffee and we can both be resolute about not spilling it and talk about what drew us to this crazy job in the first place.”

"You're a good egg, Kara Danvers." Eve squeezes her hand and Kara Danvers feels like she’s made a friend, today. "A good egg."

Cat gives her a speech about how she’ll demand perfection--gives her a talk about her responsibilities and the ins and outs--but ultimately, when Eve leaves for the rest of the afternoon, Kara handing Cat a hot latte at nearly five in the afternoon after they make it back from Noonan's, Eve insistent upon saying a proper goodbye, Catherine dips her chin back and smiles up at Kara with a hint of wistfulness in her gaze.

Kara ignores the sound of Kal-El’s heartbeat down the hall as he laughs with Jimmy and leans against a familiar desk. This has been her home for years, a desk underneath Cat's critical gaze--her smile--her arching back--and she finds no small purchase in it.

“No one is ever going to be me, Cat.” Kara offers, “But I've had two and a half years to learn--there's going to be a learning curve--and she wants to make a difference. She wants to help and wants to learn and I really, really like her for this.” Adding, a little quieter, “For you.”

“Okay.”

It shouldn’t be that easy, but sometimes things just are. A concept that has not been familiar this week. Which is sad, considering the fact that it's only Monday.

“Okay?” Kara beams and when Cat rolls her eyes it isn’t much of a deterrent to her spreading smile, at all.

“ _Okay_.” She repeats, “Start the paperwork. You only have a few hours left to train her before you throw her to the sharks. One day. Don’t let it go to your head, if she messes up and I have to fire her, you’ll be back at square one.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant.” Kara sighs, not tempering her smile, reaching up a thoughtless hand to Cat’s shoulder in gratitude and understanding.

“What did you tell her, anyways? This isn’t some kind of happy pyramid scheme where you sell tubberware, we’re both aware I make my assistant’s lives living hell for good reason.”

“Don't worry, I told her the truth.” Kara hums around her own coffee, draping a cardigan along the nearby chair, not nearly as bothered by the stain as she might have been with Eve’s nervous eyes taking it in. Even if occasionally Cat's critical eyes can make her feel far more naked than she ever does when she's actually naked, not everyone has two sets of clothes (outside of a Supersuit) stashed away in their office, and it's far more important to both of them to keep working. That, Kara knows, is something Cat will always expect. Clothes can change--a work ethic and disregard for a silly stain? That won't. “That 90% of the stories are true, that you’re demanding and occasionally incorrigible and that this job is more than just full time.” From Cat’s hum, she agrees. “And that working for you is the single most rewarding professional experience I’ve ever had. That you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met and that working with you is only such a challenge because you demand the best and raise people to a higher standard. I told her that you are one of the key factors in any success I’ve had because you helped me learn, grow, and because of you, I challenge myself daily to be better.” Kara smirks, “I also maybe mentioned that the rumor of you ripping out Diane Sawyer’s heart was decidedly _not_ true.”

Cat’s laugh is quiet and bright and when she looks up at her, Kara barely resists the urge to brush the hair out of her eyes.

“I told you to tell people that you saw it firsthand if it ever came up. A final betrayal, _Kiera._ ”

“People aren’t going to believe that Diane Sawyer is living without a heart, Cat.” They share a fond, challenging smile.

“They believe Tom Cruise  _isn't_ buried so deep in the closet that he’s in Narnia. A group of weekend Scientology socialites believe he’s the next alien Jesus, but you don’t think people are impressionable enough to believe that Diane Sawyer has no heart.” The drawl is punctuated by fingers reaching down to pull something out of a drawer.

“I believe Earth is very weird about sex and that Tom Cruise has a right to his own identity regardless of his weird alien religion and that no one would believe you would ever rip into another woman’s chest and eat her heart.” An almost impish smile in its familiarity spreads, “You’re too much of a germaphobe, you don’t know where that heart's been, Cat.”

There it is. The sound of a laugh, open and loud and enough to cause more than one head to bob up in the pen, is enough of a noise to melt away any of the stress from Kara’s day, watching as Catherine taps fingers along the edge of a desk with a following, heavy sigh, eyes lingering out of the window as she sets something down on the wood.

“Are you okay?” It’s a gentle question, fingers not moving from a tense shoulder and Cat just quietly hums in acknowledgment, eyes not moving from the balcony. “Is it--”

“You’re not the only one that’s been facing a difficult choice, Kara.” Cat supplies and Kara pauses, searching familiar features--watching a profile lit by the afternoon sun before dark eyes just lower back to a desk, sliding glasses up her nose. “When can Ms. Teschmacher start?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Kara doesn’t push but when her hand stays on Cat’s shoulder, the older woman doesn’t shake it and she revels in the warmth of it, offering any hint of strength towards this silent word problem composed of a language Kara doesn't know.

“Good. Have her here before 7:05. I expect her to be fully trained by the time you leave tomorrow, Kara. And make sure,” She waves a finger, “She’s aware of my number one rule.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Ms. Grant.” Kara beams and squeezes a shoulder and reverently tugs out what might only appear to be a white sheet of paper with a wink, not missing the way eyebrows raise and Cat lets out the smallest noise of recognition in the back of her throat, like she’s pieced together fragments of memories. Kara waves it before tucking it back in a safe pocket. “I’ll make sure she knows all forty-two.”

“Kara.” The name rumbles around the edges and Kara can suddenly feel Kal-El round the corner--can feel him stand behind her across a sea of desks, tall even underneath a suit and shoulders wide even with the weight of a messenger bag. She knows he's taller than her even across the distance and her shadow might stretch between the both of them to set a sun against his shoes, the afternoon lighting the darkest parts of her features. But Catherine doesn't move--doesn't gesture--only meets blue eyes and doesn’t, for a moment, look anywhere else. Fingers wordlessly uncurl to reveal a pair of broken sunglasses in a familiar palm and Kara’s nails brush along the ridges of skin as she takes the crumbled pieces of a promise in her hand, brows barely knitting as she swallows. As Catherine hands Kara a set of glasses she'd promised would be far more breakable than her own bones. “Fix these, please.”

And with one look, she understands.

It’s the first time Cat’s truly requested something of her and Kara understands it for what it is, her face crumpling into something soft--something apologetic--as she holds the shattered glass in her hand. Voice barely a whisper as she searches dark eyes--as she watches Catherine turn back down to her desk with white knuckles and a breath so tight in her chest Kara can practically hear it rattle against the clanging engine of a heart. “I won’t break a second pair, Catherine.”

It’s not something she should promise, but the breath finally leaves Cat’s lips in a hiss to settle in the air between them and Kara can feel Kal-El come closer like a magnet, chasing her shadow like the sun following the moon.

“Good.” Cat straightens her shoulders and her fingers barely quake as they splay against a desk and all Kara can feel in her throat is apologies. She wouldn’t even know how to start explaining that this wasn’t an explosion or an alien or a bullet--it was a hug from the man behind her; the only man alive that could ever hope to hold her and that she could ever hope not to break with her fists--and doesn’t think the explanation would do anything to pick the lock to the steel door firmly in place in familiar eyes. “Good. See that you don’t.”

“Kara?” Clark asks, hand wrapping around her shoulder, “Jimmy said you wouldn’t mind helping me look for something. Were you ready to--”

“I--” She sucks in a breath, turning around, “Yeah, Clark. Sorry. I...yeah.” She nudges his shoulder and lets out a quiet breath and her eyes flick to a cardigan--to Cat--before she leaves it there draped over a chair, weight of a watch catching underneath the office light. “Goodnight. Ms. Grant.” Kara whispers with a slim smile, hands clenching in her purse so that she doesn’t reach forward and try to chase every single frown on Catherine’s face back into hiding.

“Goodnight, Kara. Clark--it was a pleasure to see you. Please think over my offer.” She's apparently too distracted to salaciously growl at him this time--something Kara's quietly glad for--but there's a look she can't quite place, there, as well, hidden behind silver frames and hazel eyes.

“Right. Of course, Cat.” Clark clears his throat and curls fingers around Kara’s bicep in familiarity and she lets him lead down the hall with a nod, setting glasses firm up on her nose when elevator doors close. “Hey, I didn’t...interrupt anything, right? Cat looked kind of--”

“No, no.” Kara lies, voice quiet as she watches the numbers of an elevator ticking by. “I’m glad you’re going to be here for a while, Clark.” That’s less of a lie, her voice quiet as those numbers just keep ticking down, clenching so tightly along the frames of glasses that they snap a little further underneath her fingers' weight. Like Cat’s spine could, if Kara ever-- “I’m just...it’s really nice to see you. It…”

“Hey,” His hand curves around her shoulder and it's Jor-El’s smile that greets her and Kara leans into it, fixing askew glasses on his nose for him. “Me too. Come on. We’ve got a Luthor to catch.”

It’s a purpose, she knows, the weight of the cape. It’s a promise as much as it is a symbol. It’s a sacrifice. She can learn from Kal-El--from _Clark--_ she can learn more than she would ever learn on her own in National City underneath the weight of eyes and a constant looming promise of losing everything she loves. Her phone dings a text with a count-down timer and Kara’s breath dances along the afternoon air as she nestles broken shards of sunglasses into a pocket.

It's not the first time she wonders what her life would have been like if Kal-El had kept her in Metropolis, Lois' fingers skimming through her hair as she tucked against the curve of knees, reading a book, but it's the first time she wonders if there could be a place there for her, now.

“I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.” She murmurs to herself, quiet enough that Kal-El will never hear it as they disappear into an alley behind a looming tower that rivals even CatCo’s impressive stature. Her fingers run along a necklace when she's changed, stained blouse replaced for something else on a detour, murmuring the question to a mother who might know, somewhere along the sun’s edge, “What am I supposed to do?”

“What’s that?” Kal-El asks, hefting his bag up a tilting shoulder and Kara smiles at him when he holds open the door.

“Oh just...just work stuff. Nothing. Cat,” She waves a hand in gesture, following him towards Lena Luthor and, hopefully, answers. “Just...work stuff.” Clark smiles and squeezes her shoulder like he understands.

Does he?

Soon, Kara Danvers feels like she makes a second friend, today, in eyes that warm her skin and a curious smile that sticks to the warmth of her chest and she feels oddly protective of Lena Luthor as they make their way back out into the home of city streets, fingers idly rubbing at her chest.

Jagged pieces and bent steel cut into her skin and Kara thinks she might actually  _feel it_ and that night, before a dutiful cousin rushes off to dinner with a smiling Kal-El, Kara begs Cat to dig her nails into her hips, instead, breath breaking against the night air as Cat pins an arching weight against her desk. Because Cat has only been demanding, tonight--utterly encompassing--because the moment Kara flew to her balcony with glasses, the empty weight of a building underneath them, Cat buried heat down an aching throat and thumbs underneath the hem of a skirt.

"I'll miss you, too, Kara."

Cat's teeth chase a line of promises down quivering thighs and Kara trembles worse than Eve Teschmacher ever did, back arching off of the desk as the glasses she'd brought as a peace offering--as a knowing hope of a promise, repaired and spotless--once more snap in fingers, the noise of them cracking and bending and breaking lost underneath the ragged plea of Kara's breath.

"Cat--"

"You're right, she's not you." 

Kara arches and arches and the metal heats so hot in her palm, sun caught underneath her skin pleading for release, that it might melt when Catherine's tongue runs a slow, knowing line upwards--when Catherine's tongue dives inside and Kara has to make every desperate effort not to break her, too. Not to shatter Catherine into pieces. But it's Catherine's voice, gravel and fire so hot she might be the left hand of Rao, himself, rumbling against the deepest parts of Kara that makes a name tumble uselessly between desperate, parting lips.

" _Catherine--_ " 

"No one is." 

" _Catherine--_ " Kara begs, again, the shattered pieces of glasses cascading like rainfall to a desk, hand tangling in hair as Cat's fingers replace a tongue, mouth warm and endless and  _promising_ when Catherine kisses her, the taste of the stars on her tongue. And Kara doesn't understand why she's so insistent--why her eyes are so intent and demanding because Kara can see her even with her own slammed shut, lead glasses set in the chair behind them--but she feels something change. Something shift. Her hands cup Catherine's cheeks and she feels it down to her clenching stomach. She rocks and blinks back the tears rasping up a desperate cry in her throat as Catherine so dangerously takes everything she might have left. " _Ehrosh_ \--" Kara pleads, not understanding the word has even left her lips, let alone lodged itself so firmly in her chest like a brand. But it blooms. It comes to life in her chest like a prayer and becomes a truth, as most things do in the quietest of moments, unfaltering and unblinking and truly, terrifyingly, unforgiving.

_Ehrosh._

"No one could ever be." Cat whispers against her ear--promises--might even  _hate_ as she tugs on her lower lip with teeth and tongue and fire like she wants Kara to _understand_. " _No one_ is." 

And Kara is too lost to understand why, when Catherine kisses her again, her tongue tastes like rain and salt and home.

 ****Remember** **Rule #37** **: Keep it** **strictly** **professional****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kryptonian Translations, Mythos, and other DC shenanigans** Source(s)  
> [Language](http://kryptonian.info/doyle/dictionary.html)  
> ** **Ehrosh** : Not simply "that which is alive", but the whole "journey of life". **noun** P: [ɛɹ.oʃ]; Krptonian: ëoS *** **This is a term that will be explained further as the story progresses** ***


	7. Kapow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are friends for?”
> 
> This, she decides, laughing as he bounces around and beams and looks so happy for her even when she doesn't know how to be for herself, sometimes.
> 
> Friends are for this and she loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this chapter is a little longer than usual, but it didn't feel right to break it up any other way, so it wound up like this. 
> 
> There is one new word at the end of this chapter for the translation.
> 
> This chapter might be a little...racier than some of the others, so far. Another day, another two rules.
> 
> Also please, as always, let me know what you think :)

It’s been four days by the time she stumbles onto a roof, hand falling down to knees with a gasp as she gathers her breath in small little puffs of broken air like scattered glass on the ground beneath her heel. Kara can still taste green on her tongue--can feel it in the sweat pooling on quivering shoulders as she sucks in a breath through flaring nostrils--and she knows it will stick with her for hours yet. A hand curls around her shoulder in sympathy and she turns up to offer a wide, tired smile to the only blood she has left.

“Never get used to it.” He stands a little taller than she ever might and she shakes her head in acknowledgment, lungs desperate for air. “Now you see why I think it’s dangerous.”

“Trust me, I know, Superman.” She's gotten better at using his name, at least--at safeguarding a secret now that she's by him 24/7--and it's something she desperately wants to _be_ used to. She never wants to be rusty at, so casually tossing _Superman_ over her shoulder instead of desperately clanking _Clark_ on a keyboard in useless flutters of nails and his smile quirks up at the edges at the title. “I used to train with it with Alex.” She breathes--actually breathes, air catching up to her, now--leaning back with a groan, exhaustion tugging down her spine as she physically tries to shake it off. First with the arms, then with the legs, and if Alex were here she'd probably make some kind of joke about Rocky. Bullwinkle or Balboa, Kara would take either just for a hint of the familiarity. “At the DEO. Big green room. Lot of exhaustion. I wouldn't say used to it but, boy, somedays? Don’t tell her I said this, but I'm glad I know what it feels like.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Kal-El’s face contorts into something of near righteous fury and Kara’s fingers immediately snatch up to catch the wrist about her shoulder before he can fly away.

Then again, Kara's always grabbing him and holding him like he's about to fly away--she holds onto a lot of things like that--and that's one thing she wishes she _wasn't_ used to.

“She had you--”

“ _Alex_ was trying to protect me. To prepare me.” It’s immediate and protective and she can feel his pulse kick up underneath tapping, consoling fingers, reaching her own tired digits to run fingers along cheeks because she’s always been far too tactile when she’s tired and the darkness in his face reminds her of how the sun used to set in shadows under foreign eyes in his little small Metropolis apartment. She doesn’t like it one bit, but the implication also sticks in the back of her throat like a drink of scalding hot magma that won’t go down. She (unintentionally) drank magma, once. Kara would not recommend it. “Don’t look like that, Alex would never do anything to hurt me.”

“I--” He sucks in a sharp breath, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I know _Alex_ would protect you, and you love her, but the DEO, they’re--”

“Kal-El.” It’s a quiet murmur, turning him to face her fully, both of their bodies sagging from the effects of it. “I know you’re...older than me, now. Well, you think you've always been older than me. And there’s _so_ much I can learn from you, but you have to believe me when I say that I would never let them do anything to hurt you. I will _always_ protect you. And I trust them. I mean that’s my--my _sister_ and--”

“I know you trust them, _Supergirl_.” He’s intent about the name in a way that almost makes her almost take a step back. But she doesn't, not when they're talking about Alex. “But...as long as they have Kryptonite? I--”

“I know, I know.” A hand casually waves up between them with a small swooping flop to dismiss the idea like it’s something she’s heard a thousand times before. Probably because she has. The past two days, alone. “You don’t trust them.” Kara sighs, leaning back, hands clenching at hips as her breath finally settles, watching the dark horizon. “Let me try to guess the lecture: ‘It’s the organization and what they represent. Power corrupts absolutely. _Maybe_ you’re about to drop a reference to any movie about a corporation or government institution from the 90’s waiting to happen--our life is _Captain Planet_ or some zombie horror movie--I get it. I swear that I listen when you talk, Kal-El. But _I_ trust my sister. And I--”

“Won’t let anything happen to me.” It’s a quiet, gentle murmur, and when Kara’s chin dips up, she sees he’s watching her instead of the horizon and it makes a huff leave her nostrils in an indignant, fell swoop. “I know, Kara. Same lecture.” A strong arm is wrapped around sagging shoulders and she sags even further into it, a hint of a smile tucking up features. “I wish you would have a little less callous disregard for _yourself_ , I guess, but I won’t let anything happen to you, either. Family.”

“ _Zrhythrevium El Mayarah_.” Kara’s hand splays over his chest, next to a symbol over a strong heart, smile softening before she rolls her neck and arches her back one last time, swinging her arms to loosen an exhausted spine. She wishes the sun would rise so that she could taste some kind of energy on her tongue, at least, but she'll have to settle for the fact that the sun always rises _eventually_ and they'll just have to be there to greet it. “Woo, boy.”

“Tired?” There’s a hint of teasing glint in bright eyes and Kara shoves his shoulder, wagging a finger underneath a scrunching nose, his laugh a faint rumble. It sounds like the ocean does right before it warms a tide and Kara hums at the sound of it.

“Hey, I can still beat you. Didn’t anyone teach you to respect your elders, buddy?” She’s hopping on her feet, now, like she’s rounding off against Alex in that secret little dome, and it makes the green still lingering on the back of her eyes almost worth it.

“Wanna bet?” His arms so casually cross over his chest, eyebrows raising up into his hairline, and her smile spreads. When he has the suit, her cousin has confidence in spades.

Can take the Kryptonian out of Krypton, but can't take the Kryptonite out of their bones.

“Loser buys breakfast?” She smirks, bobbing and weaving, now, maybe just to remind him how much younger and older she is, simultaneously.

“Is that a bet or a curse? I better win, otherwise you’re gonna clear out my bank account. Noonan’s?”

“Oh, it’s on.” Hands snap together in a loud clap that causes a nearby cat hiding on the roof to tumble out of its makeshift warm den for the night, hissing and fumbling towards the door. Idly, she reaches over to tug the door open, the lock snapping underneath the weight of the thoughtless motion so that the cat can get inside. It’s a cold night, after all. “Bring it--”

They both pause, meeting eyes when an explosion steadies both of their shoulders, two sets of red and blue shooting towards the sky and towards a nearby bank without another word between them.

Clark winds up buying her breakfast, anyways, if just because she’s the one that cuffs three of them when Clark freezes their getaway car, bowing to her as she holds the robbers in her hands.

“Come on, guys, what did you think was gonna happen? We’re both right here. Can't you just give up and let us have the morning off--nope. Nope you're just gonna keep trying punch me. Okay.”  

But breakfast is forgotten in the din of an overnight diner, half-eaten as Kara groans into a stack of pancakes when they hear someone scream down the corner, leaving in a shuffle and a mess of cash to cover both of their half-eaten tickets.

Clark offers to get it, of course, but it's her city and she wouldn't be able to stomach the pancakes, regardless.

It’s somewhere between saving the next two civilians, both of their bodies still ragged from kryptonite, that Clark leans over and curls a strong hand around her shoulder, smile wide after she catches a nearby trashcan aimed for his head.

And Kara _misses_ the days when robbers just had guns and no fancy gravitational ray gizmos, super-cousins commiserating in this fact as they watch an entire city bus full of people lift up with the flick of a gun’s switch, the early morning commuters screaming in terror as they both frown.

“I could really use your help in Metropolis, you know. We…” He grunts, catching the bus and handing it to Kara to hold as he rushes inside to guide them all out, yelling over the din of screaming like they’re casually catching up over some drink or another at a bar. Which would be nice if they could both have any form of effect from drinking. “--Make a good team! There's no one I trust more to have my back.”

“You...here you go ma’am. Make sure you clear the area, please, and stay safe!” She’s getting good at the super hero pose thing, immediately twisting around to toss the nearby disposed trashcan towards gravity gun guy the moment the bus is down, whirling around to face her cousin’s floating form afterwards, hands setting on her hips, voice a croak when she asks. “You want me to move to Metro--hey!”

Or starts to ask, anyways.

The conversation is shut off by someone trying to punch her in the stomach (again) and she winces at the sound of his bones breaking, quickly knocking him out so that he doesn’t have to _feel_ it and tossing him up towards a floating, free-handed Superman to restrain, huffing towards the group of men fearfully skittering back, one of them clamoring to pick up the discarded gravity gun.

“Look, I  understand we interrupted your crime spree and maybe that was a little rude of us, but I'm trying to have a conversation here with my cousin. Do you mind?”

They do, apparently, and that’s that.

“Metropolis,” Kara breathes an hour later over a cup of coffee at Noonan’s again, both of them sagging into a chair, the sun slowly warming the asphalt. None of the staff gave her a second look when she’d tugged a nearby armrest to the open light of the window--probably because Kara got them all Christmas gifts last year and routinely saves them from the wrath of Cat Grant--and she looks very much like a lizard sunbasking, desperately trying to take in the heat above the faint steam of a mug as she sprawls in the chair. They have another half hour until Eve will come around the corner and Kara is going to take all of the sun she can get.

“Metropolis.” And he smiles so wide--shifting glasses on his nose in the only hint of nervousness Clark might give--that Kara doesn’t know how to tell him no.

And when Alex’s face lights up her phone a few minutes later from the DEO’s secure line, Kara feels so awful that some part of her, sitting here underneath the sun and watching her cousin fiddle with his laptop to get another article out to Perry White...some very large part of her immediately wants to _say yes_.

She wants to fly away to another city, to another planet, to be the person she should have been instead of the person she doesn't know how to choose to be.

She should really sleep before making any rash decisions.

Instead, she lifts up a phone to her ear and groans, looking down at a gold watch and catching Clark’s eyes, nodding towards the horizon and, ultimately, the DEO.

“Duty calls?” He guesses. “Always does. Busy week.”

It's only Tuesday but she really doesn't have to tell him that.

“Alex,” Kara pitifully groans towards her sister, a whisper as they both rush into the alley because they hadn’t even received their second breakfast order this time around. Not that the breakfast at Noonan’s is all the great, but it’s _something_. But her body is far surer than her voice, not hesitating to move behind the familiar building for a moment, following Clark to the corner as he loosens his tie, “You know, I’m never gonna sleep, again. If I fall asleep punching an alien, you’re dragging me to work and using some kind of fancy government animatronics or mind-control device to train Eve. Whatever we need to wake me up.”

“ _Sorry. That really_ ** _ridiculous and stupid_** _technology doesn't exist, Supergirl_.” And from the sound of Alex’s voice, she’s not having any of it, today, voice not so hidden with the anger as her sister likely thinks it is, and Kara pauses amid tugging on boots to listen to it--to make sure she’s okay--to wonder if Cat’s right about everyone always having that anger behind the anger. But, unlike Cat, Kara is entirely positive Alex _is_ just mad at her. “ _I’ll just have J’onn_ \--”

“Oh _Rao_ , no.” Kara immediately pales, snapping off her shirt in the alley the same time Kal-El tugs his over his head, glasses askew, both of them shoving fabric into a nearby messenger bag, symbols blazing in the early morning air. The last thing she needs is another whole milk latte incident. Or for Catherine to corner J’onn against her desk at lunch. That would take a significant amount of explaining for all parties involved. Especially with the mind reading. “Not again. I’ll take my chances with the _Weekend at Bernie’s_ thing.”

“Oh, I love _Weekend at Bernie’s_.” Kal-El’s smile is wide, all Superman in stance but all Clark in teeth, exhaustion faint in the sunlight as he slides glasses into their bag.

“ _I call dibs on her left side! Kara--you heard me, I called di--oww_.” Winn’s voice is faint, probably scrambling up to Alex’s phone and likely earning a swift jab to the side for the gesture.

“Right?” Kara hides a laugh behind a yawn and Alex’s sigh is clear as day, J’onn’s a cutting addition as she moves to slide an earpiece upwards, curling it around the ridge of a lobe, switching her phone over with a flick.

“ _We need you to move out, now, Supergirl_.” J’onn’s voice might be faint, but it has its wanted effect, and no amount of anger seems to keep her sister’s voice from softening.

“ _Be safe. Be fast. Be sup_ \--"

“We got it!” Kara yells from the air, shoving phone into her boot before they fly towards the city.

She's grasping Kal-Els’s chest when they touch down an hour later, nursing a wound to her thigh with a frown, feverishly moving to tug out of a skirt as she leans up against the wall.

“It must be the Kryptonite, we shouldn't--”

“No, no, I'm fine.” Kara grits through her teeth, kicking up her boot for him to catch, watching him frantically go through to find the gauze like it’s far more than a...slightly large gash. It’s not something she ever expected to need on herself, hissing as he cleans it, wrapping the gauze around pale skin. As least she’s not going to shatter his sternum when she curls her fingers and her sigh of relief is lost underneath the cut of his teeth as the gauze rips, shuffling to hop forward, into her pants the moment it's wrapped, catching herself on him as she does with a quiet Kryptonian curse that might blaze both of their cheeks red if Kara was of the mindset. As is, it just blazes Kal's. “We can’t tell Alex.”

“Kara, we should take you back to the--”

“Nope.” Kara tugs her shirt over her head, getting used to the notion of putting weight on her thigh, muscles clenching like a rubberband wrapped far too tightly. “And you know I’m not budging on this. I have to go to work and you--” She pokes his chest, “Have to help her find where that Kryptonite’s coming from. Hey.”

He’s buttoning up his shirt, jagged and sharp and cutting as he tugs out his glasses, jaw tight and Kara sighs, tugging him forward to rest a forehead against her own.

“I’m okay.” It’s a gentle whisper, “I promise, Kal-El. It’s just a little...cut. It’ll heal in the hour and after we get rid of the Kryptonite--”

“Yeah.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.” His shoulders sag, lips thinking.

“It was aimed for me, you shouldn’t have--”

“Clark.” Her fingers curl, sighing as she pats his neck and tips back to kiss his forehead, familiar and loving. Like Jor-El used to brush along her skin. “I’m okay. Promise. We saved each other out there. So why don’t we--”

“Oh my _God_ \--”

Both of them whirl around at the same time to see none other than Eve Teschmacher, on time and prepared, and standing at the edge of the very visible alley and...and Kara is still half dressed and--and oh.

Oh, no.

Because there’s Eve, gaping and holding a hand up over her mouth, steam from her mug rising unbidden up into the alley between them behind Noonan’s and both Kara and Clark stumble backwards, a groan leaving her lips at the twinge in her leg.

She has enough of a mind to turn around and button her pants, catching the shirt Kal-El throws at her with her _face_ as Clark stumbles forward with raised hands, “Oh, wow--wow, this is _not_ what it--”

She struggles to right the shirt, head trying to go through the armhole first before it makes it through the proper one, catching her glasses, next, and rushing forward, the pair likely looking erratic and…

And, oh, _eww_ no.

“Oh.” Eve looks between them, eyebrows raising into her hairline, “Oh--I’m so sorry-- _Kara_ ,” Eve swats her shoulder with a wink the moment she gets close enough to raise her hands, favoring her right leg, “ _Clark Kent_?”

“It’s not--it’s really not--oh, God, eww this is gross.” Kara runs hands nervously through her hair, trying to straighten it because _wind-rustled_ might look...otherwise (very gross things) rustled. “Trust me, if there is anyone I’m sleeping with in this office, it is _not_ Clark Kent.”

“Definitely. We are not--wait,” Clark stumbles, “That...was a particularly weird way to phrase that.”

“Clark!” Kara feverishly whispers, “Not helping.”

“Right, right--hah. Sorry. Look...Eve? Right?” Clark flashes a thousand watt smile and Kara might want to vomit. This is what wanting to vomit feels like. Or maybe she’s just really close to passing out. How would she tell? She tries to remember all of the times Alex has thrown up in front of her (there’s a gross count-down of the top-30 worst memories of their 20’s) and she’s slowly checking off all the symptoms in her head. “I just...I bumped into Kara with coffee and she just--”

“We were just changing.” Kara supplies. “Really. And since it’s my last day, I just kind of wanted to go out on a high note, you know.”

“It’s your--why didn’t you tell me it’s your--” Clark blinks.

“So I know how this looks. Really. But I promise you, Eve, this is…” She laughs a little, awkward and strangled and _horrified_. Because she has had that dream where she was naked in front of the school reciting backwards poetry while her teeth fell out and this is _worse._ “Really not what it looks like.”

“Okay.” Eve just smiles--shrugs a little, like it really has no bearing on her day and Kara, relieved, thinks it might not. “I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward or anything, Kara. Well, um, it’s uh...it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kent.”

“Oh, I--” Clark steps forward, taking her hand with a firm shake and a smile and Kara is still too busy being grossed out to notice how she practically melts at his smile. “The pleasure’s all mine. Kara’s told me all about you. Her and Lois, my _girlfriend_ , go way back.”

“Way back.” Kara supplies. “They’re like _family_. Clark’s like _my brother_.”

“Okay, Kara, I get it, you weren’t having sex.” Eve’s nose scrunches a little bit, blunt in a way that makes them both pale.

And then blush and they keep an intent amount of distance from each other for a few minutes.

Yep. Kara’s going to wind up doing that vomit thing. Or the passing out thing.

Either way, they make their way into Noonan’s with a bag full of family secrets without incident and it takes a few moments of walking to learn how to hide the faint limp, ordering coffee for the three of them and then pointedly making sure Eve orders Cat’s, ignoring Kal-El’s curious look over her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re early.” Kara settles on something a bit easier, eyes flicking down to a watch as she counts down minutes.

“Right, yeah, well,” Eve gives her a bit of a look before shaking her head with a smile, “My family always said--Teschmacher motto--if you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on-time--”

“You’re late.” Kara supplies, nodding, a little out of breath for just a moment--just long enough to breathe in--leaning over to grab the tray of coffees for the both of them.

“Are...you okay?” Eve’s eyes search her features, a hint of concern at the edge of kind eyes and Kara laughs a little, tense and nervous, breath catching in her throat before nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Come on, coffee and then rules.”

“Rules?” Eve smiles, tucking her bag against a hip as they lean near Clark. “I bet there’s a lot of them, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.” Kara laughs, glad she kept a list in English (without the personal notes) on the drive. “You have no idea.”

Of course, it takes the longest to get Cat’s (Kara’s always been very specific about making sure it’s last to stay the hottest, and informs Eve of such), three sets of hands drumming along a coffee bar as the new assistant looks (unknowingly) between the cousins.

“Hey, you’ll find this _hil-arious_ , though, Kara--speaking of funny rumors, did you know that there is a rumor that _you_ are sleeping with Ca--”

“Oh, look, Cat’s coffee is here.” Kara immediately snaps it up with a wide smile, turning around to give Eve and Clark their cups before anyone can hear the rest of that sentence, not bothering to hide the limp as she scurries towards the door, leaving a blinking Clark and Eve behind.

\--

It’s exactly 7:05 when Cat’s heels click along the office floor and Kara, who was giving Eve a pep talk like a soldier in the trenches--she’s heard Alex give some good speeches, she feels like she can round one up for her most important troop--a few seconds ago, pats her new hire on the back, with a quiet reminder in her ear to stand straight.

Eve looks like a mannequin with a rod shoved somewhere particularly unpleasant as she moves to hand her latte, a pair of sunglasses (a new pair--the last couldn’t be salvaged) waved in the air between them, and the only acknowledgment to Kara is a flick of eyes before Cat settles on Eve.

“No coffee, Ms. Teschmacher.” It’s snapped as Cat strides into an office and Kara wishes the sun would go ahead and heal her leg because it’s difficult to hide her limp without floating as they scurry to follow her, “I need that thing junkies puff up on the streets--whatever substance takes all of the NCPD and twenty-eight bullets to bring me down.”

Eve stutters and Kara moves around to the other side of the desk.

“Well that is entirely illegal Ms. Grant, unflattering to your teeth,” Kara reasons, “And would likely lead to a lifetime of wrinkles in one night, so I feel like you might not like that as much as the coffee. I can get Eve to do an intravenous if you'd like?”

“Well I did think of going pre-med.” Eve supplies with a nervous laugh and a cutting look from Cat which quickly causes any hint of laugh to die. “Um...no fatalities. Because I didn’t...actually...do it?”

“That was almost close to a successful joke, Eve, keep trying. But keep your practicing to yourself alone in your room with a microphone like every other little girl hoping to grasp at celebrity.” A thoughtful hum, “Besides, I can't risk the needle sticks, floating around like some kind of crack addict.”

“Actually, people smoke crack, Ms. Grant.” The soon to be ex-assistant unhelpfully supplies, clearing her throat when the knowledge hangs between the three of them, focusing her gaze down on an ipad. “Which...is a fact I should probably not advertise knowing for fear of giving the wrong impression.”

“It would explain how hyper you are.” Cat drawls and Kara’s eyes bounce up to take in a curious look in them and there’s a fear--an ever pressing, growing fear--that her lover might be able to see straight through her, so she shifts her weight onto a bad leg intentionally and successfully manages not to hiss.

“We'll just go with the good old fashion coffee fix, how about that?” Eve hesitantly offers and when there’s a terse nod from her employer, she wisely skitters out of the office to obtain it after listing off the appointments for the day.

“I never should have quit smoking.” Cat grumbles to herself, clutching so tightly to a pen it might snap in two.

Kara leans over, smirk tucking up her lips despite the lingering pain in her leg, voice a hushed murmur in her ear--a shared appointment between colleagues, for anyone looking. “You didn't in one area.” A beat, voice lagging as she tries, “Your... body?” Kara frowns, “Your body is smoking.” Cat is decidedly closer to snapping the pen in two from the white of her knuckles and a sheepish laugh leaves an Kara’s lips, admitting: “Wow that was bad. I promise it sounded so much better in my head.”

“It would’ve been better if you didn’t make it sound like a question.” Dark eyes snap over and up the small distance between them.

“It is absolutely _not_ a question.” Kara frowns, leaning closer if just to convey a point, chin falling down to rest over knuckles, knowing she’s hidden by the still-drawn blinds on the left side of the office. “You’re the sexiest woman alive, Cat Grant.”

At that, the edges of familiar lips barely quirk at the edges and Kara might say something bolder just to see a full smile break out--sleeplessness, pain, delirium, and Kryptonite appear to be a dangerous combination--until Cat huffs.

“And thus why the rule was born reveals itself in blinding, awful obviousness.”

“Wh--hey, I happen to think that one was good.”

“If that's true I _am_ going to have you drug tested. _Crack_ , indeed.”

“Well how else am I going to do all my copious sums of drugs, Cat?” Kara’s teeth bite the inside of her mouth because she becomes more and more like her sister the less sleep she gets, “All the needles break.”

That earns a full smile and Cat doesn’t seem pleased by it, immediately trying to eradicate it from her features, standing and sitting on the edge of her desk, the early morning sun casting a white sheen through the blinds of her office.

“Out.” But she’s still smiling, if a little worn around the edges, so Kara leans over and hands her the coffee they'd gotten earlier, heating it in a quick flicker. Unfortunately, this time she’s not able to hide the wince, even as Cat’s fingers curl around the cup. “You're fired.”

“Well you can't technically fire me because I don't have a job yet, Ms. Grant.”

“Oh, goody, something to look forward to.” Cat pushes glasses up her nose, smile spreading as she fishes the frames from a ready line, taking a single, long drag of coffee like it’s a cigarette lighting the edge of her throat. “Go pick one, already, so that I can fire you from that.” Cat’s demand is calm and almost playful and Kara leans back against the desk, decidedly unworried (the moment Cat Grant fires her, she’ll _know_ it) allowing herself a small moment’s respite, shifting her leg so that it’s closest to the sun’s faint glow. It brushes their shoulders and she takes a moment to adjust her own glasses, watching Cat work for as long as is appropriate. And then some.

“Yes, Ms. Grant.”

After a few moments of reading through her opened mail, Cat hums, back on the previous topic in a blink of the eye.

“Kara, give me the list.”

“I--pfft, like I carry it _on_...yeah, okay.” Kara quietly tugs out a small piece of paper, making a great show of looking anywhere but Cat’s eyes as the woman snaps it open and reaches into her desk, grabbing a highlighter and running it through a very specific line three times.

**Rule#: 45. Still no unintentional flirting**

“This.” It’s an innocent hum that’s anything but innocent and she’s still so mesmerized at a voice’s ability to be acid and velvet all underneath that beautiful, beautiful smile. Kara is just glad this is the English list. Not that Cat would have cared, she likely would have picked a random line and stuck to her guns, regardless. Kara’s learned that bluffing is another one of her many poker talents. “Is why this rule exists.”

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad. It’s not like it was a pickup line, I mean, wow, I’m sure you’ve heard your share, but it’s not like the one Brad down the hall used on me when I first started.” Today is the day for her saying wrong things, apparently and a nervous laugh bubbles up from the look on familiar features, a hint of darkness tugging that smile down right away. “I was just being...honest. Trying to be honest. Not flirting. Mostly.”

“And what,” Cat caps her pen, attention focused upwards in a way that makes Kara shift closer to the sun so that she can run if she needs to, “Did Brad tell you.”

“Um--” And suddenly she _really_ doesn’t want to get anyone fired. “I should go.” But fingers snap up and wrap around a wrist with a faint tsk.

J’onn can’t be the only psychic on this planet. Cat and Eliza must be right there with him.

“If you don’t want me to immediately fire Brad, you’ll tell me.”

“I feel like that is the opposite of what will lead to Brad keeping his job.” But one look from Cat has her weakly supplying, “It was something about pizza and...” She intentionally grumbles the rest, looking down at her shoes.

“What was that?”

Sighing, louder as she rolls her eyes, “‘Hey do you want to maybe...have a good time,” She paraphrases because what he actually said won’t do Brad any favors, “And eat pizza.’ And when I gave him a revolted look he said, ‘What you don’t like pizza?’”

“...Do not,” The ‘t’ cuts off with a sharp roll on Cat’s tongue, “Tell me you let him buy you pizza.”

“Of course not!” Kara hesitates, “I mean...it was already on the breakroom table and I was already eating it, so really, I _used_ him for his pizza. If you think about it. And made my stance very clear,” It’s a righteous laugh that leaves her lips, really, “About how I was not sleeping with him while I ate the rest of it.”

Cat gives her a look before slowly sliding down the bridge of her nose, snapping the tablet out of Kara’s hands in a way that makes even the Kryptonian clear her throat. “You’re hopeless.”

“That’s what you tell me, Ms. Grant. Repeatedly, on a daily basis.” But Kara’s smiling--can’t help it--and even though Cat’s fingers are pinching at the bridge of her nose, she can still see that hint of a returned smirk. It’s buried underneath thin lips and disappointment, sure, but it’s there.

“Kara.” Cat shoves the tablet in her hands.

“Yes, Ms. Grant?”

Cat’s lips twitch and there it is, again--that small, beautiful smile--and Kara laughs something gentle and quiet, already standing when she hears Eve’s nervous footfalls outside of the elevator, heartbeat frantic.

“Get the fuck out of my office.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant.”

\--

**(So, so bad at it, anyways)**

\--

The rest of the day goes surprisingly smoothly.

Eve practically worships the list of rules Kara’s given her and it’s not long before she’s certain that she was right to hire her--to guide her this way--because despite the fact that she cries three times, she keeps coming back and Cat doesn’t threaten to fire her a single time, all day. Even Kara had been threatened with it twice before the day’s end and she feels a hint of pride as she watches Eve organize the schedule for the next week.

“For God’s sake Eve, stop pacing. You have more nervous ticks than the bomb strapped to a bus in _Speed_.” Cat snaps from around her desk and Kara shakes her head, hopping up from the chair with a wince so that the new assistant might sit, instead. “Kara, go get lunch, leave Eve with me.”

And with a regretful look towards her new friend--who looks like she’s contemplating how far the plummet off the side of the building would take but scrambles into Cat’s office, regardless--Kara makes her own way up to the roof.

Lucy _does_ tell her to go into HR. Alex tells her to do whatever the hell she wants. Winn pipes up that he thinks she would be _great_ in Marketing. J’onn tells her she should quit and become fulltime DEO (and when both of the responses from the Danvers was unimpressed, one a pout and the other a glare, he simply shrugged and offered ‘Security.’ When that was still unfavorable, he grumbled, ‘Your paintings are good. Art.’ at which Kara gave him a satisfied beam because she hadn’t thought he’d noticed, at all). James just pats her shoulder and Mon-El, who she's starting to train away from a confining cell, doesn't understand the  concept of labor, at all. Cat is particularly tight-lipped on offering any suggestions whatsoever, no matter how many times Kara alludes to needing _some_ form of guidance.

Instead, halfway through the day, Cat gives Kara a speech about _diving_ and Kara wants to ask her what it’s like to be so sure--to be so certain--because she’s not sure if she can dive when she’s not even sure what she’s diving towards, anymore.

And Clark….

Clark...Kara isn’t sure why, but she doesn’t know how to ask Clark, at all.

Hey eyes linger on the book on her lap, an old, tattered copy of _Fear of Loathing in Las Vegas_ composed more of finger smudges and worn pages than words, and teeth tuck a lip, nail skimming along a cover and the inscription inside.

Because the answer she’s wondered this whole time, isn’t one that anyone else has given her, and she wonders if she only ever thinks it because--

Is it something she wants, at all? Is it another Metropolis--a choice not hers to make, or….

A phone tips upwards, the sound of a faint ring dancing along the city rooftops.

“ _Kara_?” The voice is a gentle and kind and a little breathless in a way that makes Kara smile, because it was only two rings before the phone was picked up, at all. “ _Is everything okay? Are you and Alex--”_

“Everything’s great, Eliza.” It’s an immediate consolation, sighing as her feet dangle over the roof, eyes taking in the sight of the city, below. With glasses on, people look small and far away enough for her to be floating around the clouds and the wind faintly rustles the mouthpiece of her phone as she shifts it against her shoulder, hand idly setting an old book aside in favor of keeping her phone close.

 _“Are you talking while flying_?” Kara can imagine slit eyes and deeply concerned wrinkles and feels a faint hint of guilt for something she’s not even doing.

That’s Eliza’s two greatest talents as a mother, Alex always jokes--guilt and patience.

“No?” It would help if it didn’t come out as a question.

“ _Kar--_ ”

“I mean, no. Definitely no. _Really_ no.” It’s a little more emphatic than it should be and she swallows because now it _definitely_ sounds like she’s lying. “Okay, that just sounds bad, but you know you just make me nervous when you sound all...very successfully authoritative, Eliza.”

Her foster mother’s laugh is warm through the line.

 _“Good, because you know how I hate distracted flying. Arrive alive, Kara._ ”

“Yes, Eliza.” She shifts the phone, again, and scoots back a little from the edge of the roof like her foster mother’s eyes might be able to see the action through the phone. “But I’m just eating lunch outside. Really. It’s a little windy but--”

 _“Oh, so everything really is okay?_ ”

“Yeah, I promise.” A smile spreads and idly, that guilt transforms into something else--something quieter--because she really shouldn’t just call across state lines only when something’s wrong. Not that she does, but lately…

Lately she hasn’t done much of talking to anyone in her life, really. About the important things. She’s asked question upon question, but when Alex looks at her across a room, she feels like there’s just as much distance between them as between her and Eliza right now, and she wonders if it’s her fault.

This distance, at least, she knows how to cross.

It’s always as simple as a phone call, with Eliza. And it always will be.

“I just missed you.” It’s quiet and a hint sad in a way she can’t help and suddenly Eliza’s voice is a little louder--a little closer--and even though she’s well aware the other woman must be in an office, she imagines her curling up on a warm couch in a home in Midvale, a fire dancing sunlight by her feet and a blanket curled around her shoulders. The air might taste like Christmas or pancakes in her mind and it’s enough to make Kara smile.

 _“Oh, sweetie. Well, I always have time for that. Especially when no one’s being mind-controlled_.” It’s fond and rumbling--a hint of that punchy Danvers’ spunk--and Kara pulls the phone closer, too, to contend with the wind and the chill, like she might be able to save Eliza from it even though it’s just a phone. “ _So...tell me what’s new with you_.”

So Kara does.

She tells her about Clark and how things seem a little strained with Alex with Clark here. She tells her about her new job--whatever it might be--and finding a replacement. She tells her about how she thinks something might be different with Cat--off--and tips her chin up, sighing as she buries the rest of it in her chest.

_“Wow. You’ve had a busy week since my last call.”_

And then Kara blurts something she hasn’t told anyone, at all.

“Clark asked me to come with him to Metropolis.” It’s a murmur--a swallow--chin tipping back as she watches the sun dance over the horizon.

 _“Oh._ ”

Enough silence passes on the line that Kara rushes to explain--

“I--it’s not that I--I mean, I love it in National City. I really do. And I _love_ working with Alex and...CatCo is my home and I…” She sucks in a breath, “I...did I tell you--well, no, I know I didn’t tell you--but I think I might have met someone. Too.”

“ _Oh_?” Eliza’s voice picks up at that and Kara might suck up all of the air in National City. It’s a real possibility.

“I mean, not that I said that. Please don’t tell Alex I said that. This is a mom-alien confidentiality thing, Eliza--”

 _“Cross my heart._ ” It’s immediate and sincere and Kara swallows down some of her nerves.

“Thank you.” A hint of a nervous laugh, chin ducking, “But I just...everything’s changing. And sometimes...sometimes I think of being in Metropolis and I think that I could learn... _so_ much from Clark. So much.”

“ _Well that’s...that’s true, Kara._ ” Eliza admits and Kara has to pull back the phone for a second to make sure she’s talking to the right mother and didn’t actually dial into another universe, instead. Given the transdimentional tranceiver in her pocket it _is_ an actual possibility, after all. “ _You could learn a lot from Clark._ ”

“So you think I should go?”

 _“I didn’t say that. That’s up to you. I’m just...agreeing, sweetie. It’s a big choice. Does this person you’re seeing, do they know about the job? And about Metropolis? And about--”_ Eliza pauses there and Kara lets out all that air.

“I...they know about the job.” She hedges, “They definitely...do _not_ know about Metropolis.” There’s a chill at the thought, pulling the phone closer, “Things are still...well they’re not _new_ new, but she’s--she’s not very...I mean, we were both nervous about a relationship, at all. And I don’t want her to even _think_ that I’m trying to--that I’d rather--” Her hands fidget with her glasses in a way that cause her to catch them before they can tumble over the edge, once more shakily righting them before continuing, “But she...she _does_ know about...me.”

“ _She_?” Eliza hums in the back of her throat, like a curious revelation, but neither Kara or Eliza seem to dwell on it for very long--Kara’s still not entirely sure why someone would, especially not Eliza. “ _She knows about_ ** _you_** _, does that mean that she knows about--”_

“She doesn’t know about Clark.” Kara is quick to reassure--to protect--voice taking on a hint of fierceness that only comes out in favor of standing next to her cousin. Not against Eliza, of course, but she’s certain she would stand with him against the world, if it came to it. And Eliza would stand with them, right next to Alex. They’re family. “She knows about my _cousin_ ,” Kara presses, “But she doesn’t know about Clark. I just--I mean, it’s serious but it’s...it’s not. That.”

“ _Oh, Kara_.” Eliza sighs and that’s all the words she needs, rushing to explain.

“I know, I _know_. I...I’m not really built for...for casual. And it’s _not_. It’s not casual. It’s probably the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in. It’s just--it’s--” A frustrated noise, “It’s complicated, Eliza. And I just sort of blurted out all of this and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, but I lo--” She pauses, immediately cutting off that thought with a short breath. “ We both agree that when it comes to our careers or...saving the day, that that always comes first. But I just...I don’t know what I--Cat gave me a few days to sort it all out and I--”

“ _I have a guestroom here, sweetie. If you need some time._ ” Eliza offers, not pushing--always straight to the heart of it--and Kara’s features soften.

“I can’t leave the city.” It’s a murmur, looking down at her hands. Could she even leave Cat? Alex? Going to Metropolis-- “I can’t leave it unprotected, even with the DEO. I can’t…” A small laugh, “Figure out what I want to do with my life.”

A thoughtful hum on the other line: _“Well, that’s...always hard, Kara. Sometimes I even wonder at my age if what I’m doing is what I’m meant to do. You’ll figure it out. But this isn’t something where someone can tell you what to do. You have to think of what you want--what you really want. And then go for it_.”

“Yeah,” Kara sighs, eyes tracking up to watch the sun, keeping her tone bright and carefree: “That’s what people keep telling me.”

_“Save for visiting. That’s not optional. Speaking of--”_

“I know, I know, I’ll visit soon. I promise. Maybe...maybe for lunch, whenever Clark leaves town?” Kara offers and Eliza audibly perks up, immediately agreeing. The rest of the conversation is short, but brighter, and when Kara pulls the phone away to leave with a happy “I love you, Eliza. Thank you. For always being here.” Eliza just hums, smile evident in her voice.

“ _I hope you and Cat are able to figure it out, Kara_. _I’ll see you tomorrow for that lunch. I'm sure Clark would  love to come._ ”

When the line clicks Kara blinks down at her phone and assures herself that her foster mom just meant the job thing.

She had to just mean the job thing.

But as Kara makes her way back downstairs, teeth fussing with a lip, the words sink deeper and deeper into her shoulders and Kara can’t help but worry that Alex has been right about the paranoid delusion all of these years that their mother was psychic, and that Kara’s single-handedly managed to ruin nearly all of their rules in the span of three days.

\--

**Rule #46. Do not arrive to work, together. No one can know. Be discreet.**

****Carter **cannot** **know******

****\--** **

She's fully healed by the time the night comes, a small fact she's grateful for if just because she's going to see Alex in an hour and that's one thing she will not be able to keep from her sister. 

“Well, this is the last night this desk is officially yours.” Winn raps his knuckles along the edge of it--smacks it with a smile--and Kara shakes her head, fond and quiet. “This is where you used to throw paper at me from your chair and oh, look,” It's a playful coo when he tugs up a phone, “The replacement phone. You know, for the one you broke the moment you thought Cat  Grant might like someone more than you.” Kara shoves his shoulder and he flops over the desk, barely catching himself on the edge of it before he can tumble all the way over with a snorting laugh, splayed out on top of it for a second. “Lots o’ memories. Lots o’--”

“Don’t you _not_ work here, anymore, or can I still fire you?” Cat yells from around the corner at the noise and Winn hops backwards when a wild Cat Grant appears in front of his vision, CEO (once his boss, always his boss was always Winn's motto) towering over him despite her height when she leans against the doorway to her office, scrambling to hide behind his best friend.

Kara doesn't have the heart to tell him that she's just bullet-proof, not Cat's-sharp-wit-proof.

“Lots o’ memories.” He practically yelps, voice at least two octaves higher, “Um, hi--” He clears his throat with a nervous little wave, “Hi there, Ms. Grant. I’m, uh--”

“Watley.” Cat’s eyes flick over to Kara for only a second before settling back on him, “Is there a reason you’re causing so much noise in my office like an overzealous orangutan.”

“I guess the answer to that is a resounding...no? Ms. Grant.” His fingers tug at the hem of his neckline as he murmurs, still half-hidden by Kara's shoulder. “I have...mental problems. Probably.”

“Would you like to join us for dinner, Cat?” Kara offers despite feeling Winn turn fifty-different shades of gray in the span of time it takes for the words to leave her mouth and Cat’s shoulders tighten--stiffen--but the faintest hint of smiles replaces the unimpressed look from a moment before. “Milo is suggesting another World Record. We're celebrating.”

“Did you spill something else?” Cat’s smile spreads at that even as her arms cross.

“ _No_.” A moment, “Well, not today.” Another moment at Winn’s knowing look, Kara sighing as she concedes: “Not in this building.” Because she'd spilled half a can of Spaghetti-o's on J'onn at the DEO only an hour before. She's still a little sad about that.

“It’s for single-handedly conducting the most amount of unsuccessful interviews in a few hours.” Winn pipes up, “My girl, with the record.” He offers a hand which Kara reaches up to smack out of habit, immediately rushing forward when she realizes she hits it a bit too hard. He does a good enough job of hiding his whimper but she whispers  _ohgodI’msosorry_ in his hairline when she sees tears in his eyes.

“While all of that is a cute little sidestep into the boring daily lives of my employees, some of us still have jobs.” Cat takes one look and jerks a thumb towards her office knowingly, Kara immediately scrambling to gather ice in her cardigan and Winn, as successful of a liar as she is, is worse, mumbling something about a ring hitting his hand.

It would work better if Kara had any rings.

If Kara had ever once worn any rings at CatCo, ever.

Winn shuffles with a little sweater full of ice back towards the elevator with a wave and Kara immediately joins Cat against the doorway when it closes, laughing a little to herself, mortified and feeling _awful_.

“He’s brittle, isn’t he?” But there’s a hint of concern at the edges of Cat's eyes and Kara shakes her head.

“I’m not supposed to give high-fives, anymore. Alex is very adamant about me not giving high-fives. At least not to Winn. They pay him a lot of money for his hand--” Kara winces,” ...s.”

The day where she keeps saying the wrong thing just keeps on giving. Her mouth just won't stop.

“The computer smurf works with your sister?”

“Please don’t remember that.”

“Of course I’m going to remember that.”

“Please don’t mention it, then.” Kara rectifies, arms wrapping around Cat’s neck with a sigh, office empty and body sagging. “My identity is one thing. Which I am...very thankful that you’ve kept a secret. But Winn…” The breath shakes against the edges of her lips like a quivering dog left out in the rain, the consequences of this little mouth-blunder settling far too heavily on her back. “He’s not like me, Cat. And I couldn’t possibly do what I do without him, but it’s dangerous, and I couldn’t--”

Fingers tuck up her chin and when their eyes meet Kara lets out a quivering, relieved breath at what greets her.

“Fine, off the books. If you give me something else.”

“I can give you something better than a scoop.” Kara offers and she tries--she does--to be sultry, even if it falls flat underneath a happy hum and she laughs, leaning up to brush their lips, regardless, humming at the faint contact. “Come to dinner with us.”

“I do have work, Kara.”

“It would be a huge morale boost. I’m going to be forced to interview everyone at dinner to showcase the horror,” Kara's lips bat upwards, “You forget I still have access to your schedule, Cat. Whatever you’re agonizing over actually _can_ wait until tomorrow. Which is rare. Come be the only one at the dinner table who understands quite how bittersweet I am, today.”

“I don’t eat with employees outside.” Cat waves a hand even as it lowers down to rest on Kara's hip.

“So come eat with me. You like Milo. Winn. Eve will be there. And...okay, a few other people in the company. And if you’re worried about them not having fun with you being there,” Kara raises a hand, “You’ll be the life of the party. Which you always are.”

“Well, _of course_.” Cat laughs a little, gaze softer. “Why?”

“You’re stressed. I’m stressed. I...can tell something's been different with you, Cat. Not that you have to talk about it," Kara's fingers gently comb through hair, watching the way Cat's office backlights golden locks like a halo--watching the way the light spills onto her own palm like it's lighting the darkest places of her veins. "But dinner might help."

Catherine leans back against the now-empty desk and Kara bites a lip, chasing after her--watching the way the light fades behind her hair into full shadows, only the light down the hall illuminating the part of lips, now. "I'm not certain dinner would help either one of us with our decisions." 

"Maybe not." Kara agrees before leaning down and kissing her, slowly and smoothly, because this is...it. 

This is the last night.

Cat is leaning against a desk that isn't hers, anymore--that will be filled with other pictures and memories and another body greeting Cat every morning--and she feels like she's losing something, as much as she's gaining it. She's felt that way since Friday and it's becoming harder and harder to stomach. 

“You should go. Won’t you be late for dinner with your little party posse?” Cat's voice is low but Kara leans closer--leans up--and slowly hooks her own fingers in the rims of her lover’s slim silver glasses, for once, dragging them down a nose to look up into blinking, adjusting eyes. They're an olive painting of green and brown and barely-contained  _lust_ and Kara's breath hitches at the sight of it.

“They’ll be okay.” Kara shakes her head, taking great care in folding the frames, “There’s something I’ve never had the chance to do. Something I'm realizing...this will be my last chance _to_ do.”

“And what would that be?” Cat’s voice is quieter, husking and low, eyes intent on Kara’s fingers as she slowly sets the glasses down on the edge of a desk.

“I have taken no small amount of pleasure in…” Kara tries to straighten her shoulders--to be a little bolder underneath the lead resting on her nose--and the faintest flush spreads up her neck as she steps closer, smile leaving a breath of space below Cat’s ear, feeling a tremble up such a familiar neck. She's careful not to touch her--not to run anything but a ghost's trail of finger's up a pulse with her breath. “Becoming intimately familiar with you, Ms. Grant.” Cat’s breath catches along her teeth, Kara's hands coming up to rest next to curling fingers on a desk, pinning her lover there with presence, alone. And it's the way that Cat doesn't suck in another breath--the way Cat's _breathless_ , just in this moment--that truly makes Kara bold. “I have learned what you taste like on every surface in your office.” She takes great care not to touch her despite the ache in her fingers to reach up--to run her finger along the faint bob in a throat and trace the line with her tongue. “I’ve learned what makes your fingers curl into your sofa, how much your thighs tremble when your back is up against the patio….”

“Oh,” Cat’s breath is hot against Kara’s shoulder and she’s suddenly very, very glad she had an excuse to already get rid of the fabric, even if it meant almost breaking her best friend’s hand.

“I’ve learned what my name sounds like in the copier room, on the breakroom table, and even on Barbara from accounting’s desk, which I know we don’t talk about because it was probably a little rude,” A hint of levity tucks up her lips, then, leaning close enough to smell that hint of perfume along a neck, chest expand with the scent. The ink follows after like the boldest notes of a wine, something Kara's ever only appreciated for taste, not for the effects of it. But this? This is something she's certain she could be drunk on. “The elevator. The roof--”

“Don’t forget the time I left you begging in the boardroom after a meeting.” Cat challenges and Kara’s breath quivers, leaning up to brush her teeth along a pulse--to feel it jump underneath her tongue and she can hear the way Cat's nails scrape along the edge of her desk. A moan breaks from the hollow of a throat when Kara barely--barely--bites, breath heating the wet sheen of gooseflesh skin when she pulls back, nose brushing along the ridge of an ear. But Catherine's nothing if not resolute. “I never will, feeling you tremble against my finger--”

Two fingers slowly raise to Cat’s parted lips to still the wanting words, eyes dark when Cat parts them, boldly sucking the digits into her mouth, warm and wet and sinful in a way that makes Kara’s breath quiver out of her nose like a trembling drum.

“This is about you.” It’s a gentle chide--a quiet husk--shivering when Cat’s tongue runs up the edge of a middle finger before letting her go. “I was trying to make this about you.”

“Then you were saying?” Cat’s smirking now and it’s as infuriating as it is beautiful, settling deep in the lowest part of a clenching stomach and Kara presses her hips up to pin her lover against the desk fully. Properly. And there's no small amount of heat in her bones when Cat  _trembles._

“I was _saying_ that there’s one place where I--” Kara's breath sucks through her teeth, wet fingers tracing a line from Cat’s jaw down her neck--dipping along her clavicle--skimming along the ridge of a blouse, a ragged breath pushing them up before falling down, again.

“Where.” Cat leans back against the desk, elbows straightening as she arches into the touch--tries to push Kara's hand down with breath, alone. “Tell me what you want, Kara.”

“What I’ve dreamed?” Kara follows her, her own arms straightening as she leans over Cat--towers over her--one hand slowly tracing the line up from a knee, nails skimming upwards along a clenching thigh to push underneath the edge of a skirt. Her other hand pushes up from the dip of a breast to smooth up the line of a throat--to curl fingers along the curve of a jaw. “What I’ve spent days sitting right _here_ daydreaming about while you were yelling from your office?”

“A powerplay, _Kiera_?” Cat smirks and Kara’s laugh breaks against her lips before her fingers push further, tangling in hair and Cat’s arms slide around her waist, snaking under fabric to run along the ridges of a suit. A familiarity--a simple, knowing action, gentle and safe--that catches along Kara's tongue in a hot breath, not able to help herself before kissing her, hand pushing up to slide underneath Cat’s arching hip, fingers curling as she tastes a gasp against her tongue.

Cat's nails rake up the fabric of a suit with no real hope of breaking it.

“No," Kara's indignant when they part, "Right now I want to make _love_ to you on this desk, Catherine.”

“Oh, admit it. You’ve wanted to fuck me on this desk longer than you ever wanted to make love to me on it.” Cat's vulgar and harsh and  _right_ and Kara's not sure what to do with that. “Admit it, Kara.” Her teeth tug at a lip and Kara can't  _breathe_ anymore. Because the suit and the cape aren't the only secrets Catherine keeps that belong to the deepest parts of her, aching and yearning and...darker than she'd care to admit. “Admit that part of you still wants to fuck me, right now.”

“Yes.” Kara hisses a breath through her teeth, “Oh, yes, I very much do, Ms. Grant.”

“Say it.” Cat orders and Kara roughly pushes Cat on top of the desk at the sound of it, blue eyes widening for only a moment, surprised at her own reaction until Cat’s fingers cup her cheeks and push her up to catch desperate eyes, insistent and lusting, but Kara can't. She can't look. “It’s okay. Look at me.” Kara swallows, tongue darting out over lips, “Kara,” Gentler, “Look at me.” And when Kara does, Cat's eyes are so dark that she could imagine herself lost in them for over two decades, floating and aimless and _alone_ until Catherine’s fingers hook underneath her jaw and she kisses her--she  _devours_ her--and Kara feels anything but. “I _want_ this part of you.” Cat’s teeth tug at her lip and Kara chases her, pushing her down onto the desk, stealing the gasp made solely for the air with a selfish mouth until neither of them can breathe, anymore. Until Kara forgets what it was like to breathe, at all. 

“Catherine.” Kara whispers against a bruised mouth, pushing a skirt higher along

“Say it. Tell me, Kara.” Cat encourages, voice dark and yearning as her hands smooth down her throat, cupping breasts and Kara catches wrists, pinning them up against the edge of the desk to a gasp, because this is about _Cat_.

“Yes.” Kara admits, pressing her down fully against the weak wood, knee sliding up to press between legs, mouth sucking along the cleavage of breasts, tasting a ragged gasp. “Ok, I wanted to--” A breath through her nose, “Fuck you.” She admits, the word heavy on her tongue, rumbling down in her chest and she feels it reverberate down to Cat's clenching thighs. “I wanted to push you down on my desk,” It's a breath, knee pressing so insistently between them that Cat rolls down into her and she wonders how long it will be until she'll feel her--taste her--and eyes slam shut as she imagines it. “And drag my hands up your thighs,” It's like a dirty secret, teeth tugging on an earlobe, sucking it into her mouth. “And part you with my fingers,” Cat moans--she  _moans_ \--and Kara delights in every single shift of the pitch, mouth trailing down a neck. “And taste you,” She nips a collarbone. “And make you beg until you screamed my actual name, Cat.” Her knee presses up harder and Cat would arch off of the desk if Kara's whole body wasn't pinning her down and she can feel her heart thundering underneath fingers--can hear it in her ears--can taste it as she kisses her, slowly. Deeply. Fully. “I wanted to fuck you until you couldn’t walk.” It's murmured against bruised lips. “I wanted to fuck you until you admitted you needed me.” And she waits until Cat's eyes open, dark and deadly and so far gone that Kara's not even certain she recognizes the color. “I wanted to make you come undone. I wanted to make you smile. I wanted to make you moan and tremble and--and I wanted you to come so hard you stained the desk so that every time you walked past it you would think of me.”

“And you still do,” Cat's voice is barely a whisper, knowing, and Kara's whole body tenses, pulling away from those beautiful, endless eyes to chase stars up a neck--to let her breath, ragged and desperate, settle by an ear.

“Everytime I see you,” Kara admits in a breathless gasp against her ear, “Everytime I see you I want it. I want to fuck you. And make love to you. I want to kiss you and see you smile and watch the sun rise in your eyes. I want to tell you--” And she can't help the emotion that curls her tongue--never can, not with Cat. “I want to tell you how much--”

“No declarations, Kara.” Cat reminds but she sounds breathless and might blink moisture away when Kara pulls back to look at her, “And, oh, I’m starting to regret that one.”

“Because we’re supposed to keep our distance.” It's not much of an agreement, eyes closing as she kisses Cat’s jaw--her chin--the valley of her breasts so that she doesn’t have to meet her eyes again. Because it's easy for Kara to declare everything Cat never wants to hear with her eyes.

“It’s a useless effort but we can give ourselves an A for it. You millennials do like your stars.” She tastes Cat's swallow with her tongue.

But this isn't about that, either. 

“I can think of a better reward...”

Kara drags her nails down wrists--down shoulders and buttons that pop underneath the line of her fingers, string not strong enough to keep wanting fingers away, mouth chasing the path of her touch. A bra’s wire snaps and rips from a short, quick tug and Cat’s moan buries itself in Kara’s chest. Her lips lightly chase the faintest red lines down to the swell of breasts before her tongue swirls around a nipple, mouth happily replacing it, arm wrapping around a waist to bring an arching back closer to her breath. Nails rake through her hair as Cat arches, legs restlessly wrapping around a waist, the sound of heels clattering to the floor as they fall from feet the only noise in Kara's ears save for Cat’s ragged breath and the pound of her heart.

The rest of the buttons fall way to one hand slowly sliding down a clenching abdomen, tangling in the dark fabric of a skirt before her mouth moves to the other breast, urging herself to take this as slowly as she can, to revel in an image that’s been seared in the back of her mind for years finally finding its place in reality.

Her fingers fall from the skirt to where underwear should be, a low noise in her throat when she only finds wetness, instead, knowing it must have seeped through the knee pressed there, and when Cat--back and neck arching like the sun off of a plane of white, a desperate breath swelling skin, breasts raising to close the gap between their chests--kisses her, Kara can’t hold herself back, anymore.

Not when Cat’s tongue is so desperate in her mouth when Kara traces a slow, slow line upwards with her fingers. Not when Cat’s nails dig so tightly into her neck that they might shatter along the edges of a manicure and Kara can almost _feel_ it. Not when this is the last opportunity she’ll have to take her when this desk is hers. When Cat is still...hers.

Biceps flex as she slides inside, tasting her own name in a lost breath tumbled against parted lips when Cat arches further off of the desk, breaking the heated kiss for a chance to taste moonlight. It’s slow, at first, ears taking in each breath--each sinful meet of her fingers--memorizing the way the warmth pools to her palm as bare thighs press off a desk. When Cat wraps an arm around her neck, riding her hand in ever-present challenge, using Kara as the anchor to lift herself up further off of the desk, moaning against her mouth--

“ _Fuck_ me, Kara.”

\--That’s enough for Kara to moan in retaliation--to let something primal and forgotten break against the air between them. And she knows she kisses Cat a little too rough--a little too hard--because she tastes something red and human and intoxicating against her tongue, but Cat is still riding her fingers and Kara leans backwards to pull rocking hips into her lap, thrusting harder because she can't tell if Catherine's demanding or begging, anymore. She's in her lap, now, and Kara can't remember when.

Cat violently rips the glasses from the bridge of her nose, tossing them aside with a clatter and Kara sees the whole world in dark eyes as she kisses her again, palm pressing upwards, harder than she usually allows herself to be, tempering the raging breath in the back of her chest. Kara pulls her closer, arm anchoring underneath a waist to raise Cat up--to hold her a little above the desk.

To feel Catherine arch down into her--to feel her other arm wrap around her neck, holding on--to feel her breath break against her tongue. It doesn’t take long until muscles tremble--until she watches Cat arch back into the air, breasts bare and eyes closed and _oh_ she’s beautiful.

She’s beautiful and restlessly rocking against hips on Kara's desk and oh, Rao, she’s gorgeous and Kara never wants to let this go. And when Catherine’s fingers tangle in hair Kara decides she won’t--she never will--kissing her when she gasps her name--when legs wrap so tightly around her waist that Cat might not let go, either, and then Kara catches her before she can fall backwards, easing her down onto the desk with an arm, hand slowing as she watches the lights from their office illuminate the painting of an undone Catherine Grant against the white canvas of Kara Danvers’ desk.

That was rough enough to where she knows she'll need a moment, even if Kara wants to spread her legs and honor what she's sure Catherine knows was a promise. 

She gently kisses up the plane of a stomach, chasing a trail of stairs up between breasts--dips a tongue in her collarbone--her neck--happily letting Catherine tug her head up to meet her in a slow, smooth kiss, sheltering a vulnerable body from the world with her own frame, smiling when they pull away and she feels warm breath pant against her lips.

The nervousness at her boldness fades away at the look in Cat's eyes and suddenly, Kara just feels...free.

Wanted. All of her, wanted. Craved. Cherished. And that's a new, dizzying thing that digs talons in her heart, ruthless and never letting go.

“Hmm…” Catherine’s finger lazily graces down the ridge of her nose, sliding around the dip of a nostril and Kara doesn't even notice her glasses are gone. “You should have trusted your instincts--” The finger dips down to run along Kara’s lower lip and she looks so content splayed like this, voice low and content and rumbling with an endless satiation, “Done that years ago.”

“I’m just happy I’ve had the chance to do it at all.” Kara smiles, hands resting by hair splayed out over a desk.

“You turn into a regular Frank Sinatra at night. The true superhero transformation.” It’s still so pleasantly hummed, fingers dropping down to untuck the shirt about Kara’s hips, running along the blue fabric of a suit rarely hidden from her knowing eyes. Cat kisses her again, fingers chasing a chill up hips, “Did it live up to your expectations?”

“Exceeded.” A quiet, happy sigh, teeth tucking the corner of a lip as Kara looks down at the sight of her, slowly untucking fingers from warmth to raise them up to eager lips, enjoying the feeling of Cat’s fingers curling in response into hips--a quiet breath breaking against her mouth--but far more enjoying the lingering taste of her tongue, leaning down to regretfully inform her boss with a withering sigh: “Winn’s coming back up the elevator to look for me.”

“How predictable, your IT nerd best friend the buzzkill.” Cat’s nose wrinkles, sparing an errant look down to see her lack of dress, and Kara spares a moment longer to kiss between her breasts, sighing at the feeling of Cat’s hands lovingly raking through mussed hair. “He probably thinks I killed you.”

“Mmm you almost did.” Kara laughs, chin resting over her heart for another moment before whisking her boss away and the lump of clothes with it, depositing Catherine on her desk along the way with a soft peck on the lips, appearing only a second later with the second set of clothes safely tucked away from the CEO's use. It takes her a few more seconds to tidy up the desk, looking back at it with a happy--happy noise--before regularly walking back to Catherine's side, right where she belongs, fingers drumming along exposed knees. “That blouse and bra cost more than I made today, don’t they?” It's a curious question as it is knowing, taking in the ripped sight with a very minor flash of regret.

“Considerably more.” Cat notes, already lifting up her compact to fix her lipstick, winking over it in a way that makes that regret suddenly nonexistent. “ _Exceeded_.” It’s a knowing, sly noise in the back of Kara's throat before they're dropped into a nearby bag to be properly repaired or disposed of without a series of rumors surrounding the office from Milo in the morning.

Cat tugs her close and smooths the wrinkles of a blouse as Kara tugs her hair back up into a ponytail--this is a routine they've perfected after five and a half months--and the elevator dings as Kara makes a point to lean casually against a much larger desk, snagging up her tablet to attempt to at least maintain some semblance of cover, though it’s hardly unusual for anyone in CatCo to find Kara occupied by her friend and mentor's desk, these days.

Those rumors--the ones where Kara has tamed the unlikely beast of Cat Grant’s friendship--are ones she doesn’t bother tempering through the office, because they’re true. And she’s maybe a little proud.

(The ones where they also happen to be sleeping together? Well...they're not wrong, so she doesn't say anything about those, either and she's noticed, with no small amount of quiet pleasure, that neither does Cat).

“Hey, Kara? You up here? Everyone’s--”

“Oh, Winn!” Kara shouts from the office and then looks up and when she meets Catherine's eyes and she doesn’t understand why her lover suddenly looks so--

“Well, Shit.” Cat tugs her close and her voice is as casual as can be--like the same sigh she had when someone personally called her cell phone with a bomb threat in the middle of a busy news day, unphased and waving her wrist as she takes it in stride--the moment Winn rounds the corner and Kara’s brow knits, half expecting it to be nothing. Half expecting them both to be on fire, or something. Really, either would be plausible with Cat. “Your glasses.”

“My?” A quick check of her nose confirms. “Ohmorethanshit” Kara stumbles backwards, eyes scanning for them-- “Where did they even--”

Cat makes a very casual tossing gesture over her shoulder with a shrug.

“Right. Of course you did. Because that's something that should definitely happen in real life and not just late night pay-per-view movies and--” Cat interrupts her, loudly and over her shoulder. Probably glaring at Winn.

“I told you, Kara, I have no clue where they are, now why don’t you run along to dinner and--”

“Winn,” Kara happily explains, turning around, making as much of a show at acting blind as she can, stumbling over Cat’s desk in a way that makes a lover snort and her best friend down the hall move into crisis mode to save the day.

Sometimes Winn's pretty great at that.

“Woah--what, you’re--oh your glasses aren’t!” He snaps his hand, holding up a cardigan like a shield, stumbling, and Kara turns away from Cat to make a gesture between them, pointing out towards the much larger area with a frantic look, “Aren’t on your face. Which means you are...blind--” He points, “And lost...them?”

Great at saving. He's not as great as catching on. If this is how she looks when she tries to cover, Kara's starting to think Alex might have a point.

“Wow, you’re so clever and intuitive how could we have ever let you go.” Cat is perfectly monotone and Kara would mouth to her to be nice if she was supposed to have any clue where Cat was, at all, so instead she settles on looking towards the ceiling and wishing to be magically teleported somewhere else. Anywhere else, really.

Winn starts stumbling around for Kara's glasses immediately and Kara sighs, running a hand over her face.

It goes around for a good five minutes, the women just leaning against the doorway as he fumbles.

“You hate lying to him, don't you.” Catherine whispers in her ear when Winn dives underneath the desk around the corner, happily explaining that he's found them.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Her shoulders sag a little underneath the brief feeling of Cat's hands, certain there isn't a single secret she'd bother keeping from her, now. “He was the first person I told, you know. About me.”

Kara's eyes look down at her palms, seeing far more than ridges and valleys and creases, and suddenly a set of glasses are set there, Kara looking up to see the happy, helpful face of a man she misses often.

She's learning it's easy to miss people even when you're in the room with them.

“Here you go. Under the desk across the office, what'd you do, Chuck em?” He laughs a little, pointing up at her before hands push into pockets, leaning back on the ball of his feet like a nervous, proud pre-teen.

“Thanks, Winn.” Kara slides the glasses back on and blinks, readjusting with a sigh, fingers clenching so that she doesn't reach out to either one of them. “Yeah, I just, uh...you know me. A little overzealous.” They both share a laugh and Winn offers another small wave to Cat before awkwardly offering up a cardigan.

“Oh, I--”

“How's your hand?” Surprisingly, it's Cat who asks and both of them just blink at her in a way that makes her visibly uncomfortable--Kara only knows this because she immediately rolls her eyes. “If I remember correctly, those hands are expensive.”

“Oh. I…” Winn clears his throat, obviously unsettled by the attention and Kara's face visibly softens. “It's all good. Um…” He waves a finger between the two before settling on Catherine. “Kara was right, you should…” A little firmer, nodding before that hand goes right back into his pocket, smiling like he's settled on something and Kara squeezes his shoulder before her elbow follows up to where her hand was, resting on a shoulder and raising eyebrows in solidarity. “You should come.”

“You should definitely do that, Ms. Grant.” Kara's smile is practically a beam, chin falling to rest along her knuckles as Cat looks between them. “Two of your best underlings--”

“Former.” Winn pipes up. “Former underling, here.”

“Oh, hey, me too.” She laughs--deep and lingering, chin tipping back as she swats his shoulder, turning back, “Right. Two of your _former_ underlings--”

“Oh,” But Cat laughs, waving a finger between them, “I’m not about to be hustled by the Brady Bunch. No way.”

“--would love for you to attend my commemorative dinner of being the number one record holder--” Kara continues, not deterred in the least, and that's likely the most telling of all. 

“Guinness world records will be on my phone. I will dial it. I'm dialing it.” Winn chirps, popping up his phone and waving it in front of Kara.

“He's dialing it.” She snatches the phone after thinking about it for a moment. “Please don't actually dial it.” Continuing, “Of holding the most number of unsuccessful--”

“Wildly unsuccessful, apparently.” Winn adds.

“Okay, maybe stop helping?” Kara adds as well.

“Not a chance.” Winn beams and Cat just slowly, _slowly_ looks between them.

“Yes," Cat finally notes, like she's talking to two particularly slow people in a red state, "I was here for the majority of those wildly unsuccessful interviews.”

“So you should come out to celebrate my failures and successes as my key mentor in all of these life events, Ms. Grant.” Kara drops Winn's phone back into his hand.

“You're insane--” Cat smiles as she points at Kara, waving a finger towards Winn, “And you're visibly frightened of me.”

“I am not ins--”

“Ok, she's not...entirely wrong about me being terrified of her--?” Winn murmurs out of the corner of his mouth towards Kara. “Though?”

“And I can hear you.” Cat rolls her eyes.

“And she has freakishly acute hearing.” Winn grumbles and Kara drops her elbow to step a little closer.

A little quieter, though she doesn't bridge the gap between them--wouldn't dare. “Last thing I'll ever have a chance to bug you to do as your assistant, Ms. Grant.”

“I suppose that's true, isn't it?” Cat looks curiously between the two of them, chin ducking for only a moment as a soft laugh leaves her lips. A moment later, she reaches up and grabs Kara's hand, tugging her towards the balcony with dismissive _boy, stay,_ shutting the door behind her. “I can't, Kara. I appreciate the offer, but I was hoping to spend tonight with Carter and Adam.”

“Oh, Adam's in town? I saw he sent me a message on Facebook but I hadn't--oh that's an awkward question, isn't it? I just--oh, I'm just so glad you're--Cat!” Kara beams, fingers shuffling glasses before she reaches forward, hand curling around a shoulder. “That's great!” Cat's smile spreads, a hint of nerves clear at the edges. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“I was pleasantly distracted.” The smile shifts a little-- like that thought is a far more pleasant preoccupation than Cat's rare and visible nerves--elegant fingers spending a fair amount of time picking a piece of lint off of Kara's lapel. “I was going to tell you.”

“It's great, Catherine. Are you--well obviously you're not going to admit you're nervous,” It's a gentle, knowing tease and there she goes with the eye-rolling, again. “Was this that big decision?” Kara reaches a hand up to catch her wrist, finger imperceptibly smoothing along a pulse.

“No.” A breath shakes against Cat's lips like a heavy truth withheld and brows knit, “But I'm excited.” The hand on a lapel flattens and Cat steps closer, lips brushing over Kara's cheek. “Winn knows, you know.”

“Well…” Kara's eyes flick into the office where Winn stumbles away, hand snapping over his eyes to showcase how much he is clearly not watching them through the glass. “I'm...not very good at lying. And according to James he's been covering for me for...awhile.”

“James?” Cat's eyebrows raise, a hum in the back of her throat.

“Well, I don't know if James knows, but since he gave me this whole speech about wanting me to follow my heart and be happy…” Her nose ducks, fingers fidgeting glasses before Cat's fingers slide underneath her chin and tip eyes up to meet a searching gaze.

“Quite the little heroic support system you have.”

“I'm pretty sure the only member of my little support system that doesn't know is my sister. Which is going to kill her.” Kara murmurs but there's part of her holding this tightly against her chest. Keeping Cat right here before she can float away.

Because Kal-El was right.

Sometimes it feels like she's not even here, at all.

“...tell him.” Cat whispers after a long moment and Kara blinks, surprised, another curveball tight against her chest. She still doesn't understand baseball, but she understands what it feels like to be hit with a 101 mph projectile and this feels a whole lot like that.

“I...but the rule--”

“Is for my sons, your sister, and our office. Everyone needs _someone_ to talk to, Kara.”

“Do you?” Kara asks, stepping closer. “Have...someone to talk to. Other than…” A breath, “Other than me.”

“Yes.” Cat's finger dips underneath the lapel of a collar, barely dancing moonlight against skin, “I...might have mentioned you to one other person.”

For some odd reason, it makes Kara smile, slowly spreading across lips.

It makes it feel real. Like their lives are more than just hidden secrets along ears, dipped beds in shadows.

“And got the same happiness talk. It was very obnoxious.”

“Oh, I bet.” Kara laughs a little, teeth tucking at the edge of her lip. “So that...that means that this…”

“Oh, don't make such a big deal about it.”

“How could I not when you _like_ me.” Kara teases, the teeth not doing much to hide her smile, at all.

“Don't push your luck, Kara. We were doing just fine _not_ talking about any of this. Like perfectly emotionally capable adults, ignoring all of our problems.”

“Oh, right, which I'm so very good at. Not talking.”

“Right.” Cat drawls but they both laugh, Cat just gently patting her shoulder and brushing lips over a cheek. “He looks like he's about to pass out, Kara. It's alright. Tell him.”

“Thank you.” It's a gift she's never asked for--a whisper in her ear--and before Cat can pull away completely, Kara tugs her closer, gently catching her lips in a lingering kiss, feeling that small, beautiful smile against her.

“Or just make him pass out.” Cat murmurs, “Ah, what the hell, make him _really_ pass out.”

“Wh--h...mm...” Kara's eyes snap open when Cat tugs her sharply forward, catching her mouth in a far rougher kiss, hands clenching at her sides before they slowly wrap up around a neck, thoughtlessly guiding Catherine closer before her brain can catch up. By the time it does, her brain suddenly has far more important things to occupy itself, not bothering to pull away, and when the kiss finally does break, they don't go far. “That's...not the way I was going to tell him but I am…” A smile--a hint of a laugh rumbling and giddy in her chest, “Not complaining.”

“Come on, record-setter, we have dinners to get to.”

“Hey, wait, real quick. I um, I know we already had a bit of a moment on my desk. And earlier. And yesterday. But I just wanted to--” Kara kisses her, again, soft and gentle and smiling, a slow, happy breath leaving her nose. Kissing her just because she can. “Thank you, Catherine. For everything.”

“God, stop acting like you're being shipped off, you were _promoted._ ” Cat chides but leans up, pecking her again, reminding with the faintest smile against her lips, “19 hours, Kara. Tell Superman I say hi.”

“19 hours.” Kara nods and the way Cat's fingers linger along the brush of her cheek feels like she's heard her, regardless, before Cat tugs open the door to reveal Winn gaping towards the both of them, mouth hanging open. She's actually a little worried his jaw might be dislocated for a second.

“Wilhelm.” Cat greets and Kara happily trots behind her, teeth tucking lips.

“B-b--I--r--” He stutters, a few blinks settling before he waves between the two of them. “I...was right. And you knew. I was...what?”

“That Kara and I are sleeping together or that you should never,” She points down at his shoes and his pants, “Ever under any circumstances mix Navy with black? They clash.”

“You--tha--right?”

And Kara is there in a matter of seconds, face contorting in sympathy.

“Oh, woah, hey, do you need to sit down?” Kara eases him down by the shoulders as he continues to babble a little, “Should we sit down? I thought you...oh please don't tell me you're still--”

“Hey, hey.” Winn scrambles a little towards the door like he's mid conversation in his head, which he obviously is from the way he suddenly points in Cat's face. “And another thing! If you ever hurt her I swear you'll have to...deal with me, lady. And I can be…” He wilts a little bit, blinking, “Pretty unpleasant. Even if I'm scared of you. Really scared of you.” Murmuring out of the corner of his mouth after a long moment passes, “Did I start in the middle of that speech?”

“Yep.” Kara murmurs back.

“Oh.” But Cat just smiles, eyes light as she slowly lowers his finger for him like an unloaded gun in an alley, catching Kara's fond eyes over his shoulder. “It wasn't the shady government sister after all who gave me the talk. I see why you like him.”

Kara appears next to his side, beaming, hand gently curling around a shoulder. “Well, he's the best.”

“The best, she says.” Cat pats Winn's finger with her other hand before releasing it fully. “She hasn't lead me wrong, before, so try your best not to sway my opinion. Have a nice night.” And there it is--the look where all of Cat's being is supplied, all of her attention is in one moment on her best friends eyes, a waterfall in a name, “ _Winn._ ”

She doesn't offer any condolences or promises or explanations before turning away.

“Goodnight, Catherine.” Kara calls from next to her best friend's side and she hears the smile before she sees it when Cat turns on her heel at a personal elevator, doors opening like she commands the seas, herself.

“Goodnight, Kara.”

And Kara just sighs so happily as she watches Cat go.

“Kapow.” She breathes, leaning an elbow against his shoulder with a spreading smile, head falling to rest on her knuckles.

“Kapow?” Winn repeats, looking up at her before turning back towards the elevator, the doors slowly closing, “Wow.” He murmurs, “Your kapow.” Winn says again, like he both can't quite believe it and is tasting the old word on his tongue. But he sounds more comfortable with the idea than he probably used to be and Kara nervously looks down towards her best friend, swallowing as she realizes, for the first time, just how much her heart clenches with the doors closed. “Wow, Kara.”

“Wow.” She sighs, a little quieter--a little sadder--head falling to his shoulder as an arm wraps around her waist in sympathy. “Kapow.”

“I'm sorry, kiddo.” Winn leans over to rest his cheek against the top of her head. “I'm really, really sorry. Come on…” He tugs both of her hands backwards towards the other elevators, nodding, “Come on. Food. Then you're telling me all about it.”

“You trying to butter me up, buddy?” She squeezes his hand and tucks it under her arm, hooking it and leaning into his side, tired and happy and...something else, entirely. “Because it's working.”

“Allllways does, Danvers.”

Kara laughs.

“And it's not...I'm not…”

“Kara.” He squeezes her hand and looks in her eyes and she lets out a slow, relieved breath at the sincerity there. “It's come around time. I've come around here. And I'm totally ready to hear how you managed to start...I mean, sleeping with Cat Grant, Kara? Really?” He playfully bats her bicep with wiggling fingers, “You dog.”

She snorts a little and buries her nose in his shoulder, unable to hide the smile.

And this is good. So good. Being able to talk about it.

“Winn.” She breathes, drawing up all of her breath into her shoulders as they stop onto the elevator, just the two of them. “I’m not just...you know. Sleeping with her. We both...know it's going to end someday. Like, adult, really know it's going to. Because there’s no way for me to....” A beat, “Have this and keep it. I really don't want to talk about it. Or...think about it. Or dwell on it, but I just...I just wanted to say it out loud. To someone. That I love her.”

“Oh.” Winn swallows and squeezes her hand as the doors close, Kara sucking in a sharp breath as the elevator starts to rattle.

“And I know it, I just know, that she loves me too, Winn. I've seen it. I've felt it.”

“That's…” he's turning to look at her but she looks down at the ground, foot nervously tapping along the tile.

“And _every time_ I'm so happy--whenever we're so happy because it's starting to happen more and more, the whole...being happy thing-- I see her looking at me like she's petrified she's going to lose me and I can... I'm normally so optimistic. I always try to stay optimistic, but I feel like she's right. Like what if this is some kind of self fulfilling prophecy?”

“Well you--”

“Of course we can't say it. We have these rules. And the truth is, I don't even care. I know it's going to happen and I feel like I'm turning into my mother just...watching it happen and not-- Oh I never really made that connection before. That's…depressing on _so many levels._ ” She sucks in a breath, watching the numbers tick by so that she doesn't have to watch Winn. “I love her so much it hurts, Winn. And we have a word for that on my planet.”

“You do?” It's quieter. Gentler. And she nods.

“Oh, yeah.” But she doesn't say it. Doesn't dare. “I just...I wanted someone to know. And I...I wanted that person to be you, Winn. You're my best friend. I mean, I want Alex to know, too, but she...everything’s been so different since...” The breath is shakier now, looking down at her palms, and she slowly looks up at him when his hand slides into it, something soft and familiar behind fluttering eyelashes. “I wanted you to know. About my kapow.”

“Wow.” A long moment passes, the doors opening to Kara resting her head on the shoulder, catching the tail end of Catherine getting into a car held open by a driver, Kara looking down to the bracelet that had been slid into her palm on the balcony. “Cat Grant’s your kapow.” Kara slides the bracelet into her pocket with a sigh. “Hey, when we're done with dinner...you want to come over like old times and play some games?”

“Really?” She perks up, hopeful and hesitant and likely bruising his arm she's holding it so tightly.

“Really.”

“Oh, like you wouldn't believe, Winn.” Kara can keep the now. She's good with the now. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” He smiles, dragging her out into the cool night, walking with a wide, peppy stride when she lovingly tucks her cardigan around his shoulders, laughing when he ungracefully pulls a Fred Astaire around a nearby light pole. "What are friends for?”

This, she decides, laughing as he bounces around and beams and looks so happy for her even when she doesn't know how to be for herself, sometimes.

Friends are for this and she loves him.

It's after dinner, both of them propped up against the cushions of a couch that threatens to swallow her whole, underneath the flickering light of a television that Winn lowers his controller and furrows brows and Kara's tired, happy blink slowly takes in the sight of her best friend's pout.

"Wait, what's wrong with mixing Navy and Black?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kryptonian Translations, Mythos, and other DC shenanigans** Source(s)  
> [Language](http://kryptonian.info/doyle/dictionary.html)  
> ** **El Mayarah** : Stronger together. A Kryptonian phrase. ***
> 
> ** **Zrhythrevium** : Family; kin. Person who belongs to a house--a strong bond word. **noun** P: [ʒ͡rɪ.θɹev.jum]; Krptonian: ZRyTrEvúm 
> 
> **This phrase would essentially mean: "We're stronger together, my blood". **


	8. Diving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I like this side of you.” Cat decides, throat bobbing as she swallows the offering.
> 
> “Of course you do. Because you’re so certain that it’s all your fault.” The tease causes another laugh and when Cat reaches across the desk, Kara runs fingers along her palm until she can hear her heartbeat ease into the softest staccato among the constant fluttering of pens outside this closed-off office of glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the delay. I was out of town. The good news is, there's two chapters this week. The bad news is, another day has passed and this time there's literally no rule for this chapter. Kind of. Oops.
> 
> There was actually a mistake last chapter and I have no clue how it happened. Instead of 55 hours Kara should have only had 19 left? It's ridiculous because I spent way more time than I should have calculating hours to make this all fit in my head. So that's been edited last chapter. 
> 
> Also, I added one more paragraph to the end of the last chapter regarding Winn.
> 
> This one is a bit off from the usual format.
> 
> There's one Kryptonian word, here, translated at the end.
> 
> Please let me know what you think :)

It’s day five (and a half) by the time Kara feels her whole life flash before her eyes. Fortunately, the majority of it (where she had a fitful sleep for twenty-four years or so, waking up every few minutes or hours or years to gasp until the life support systems would guide her back into oblivion) is lost in favor of remembering the way Alex had looked when she took her flying the first time, mixed with a murky memory of how Catherine’s smile can catch sunlight. Kara doesn’t have much time to think, at all, and those two images seem to be the best her mind can come up with when her body is thrown through a concrete barrier, fingers scratching at cement to catch her before she can plummet into the murky waters below.

This is officially not her most graceful fight.

The overwhelming taste of green and _copper_ is nauseating-- _this_ is what nausea feels like--and when Kara spits, red spews like paint splatter against the dirty canvas of a life-stained bridge, stumbling to shaky knees when unfocused blue eyes spot the sight of her cousin towering over heaving shoulders of the man in front of her.

This isn’t the first time they’ve met. It’s the fourth, in fact.

It’s the same man, Kara realizes with a sinking dread, that had tried to kill Lena Luthor a few hours before--who had nearly killed her _sister_ a few moments later --and the rage is displayed by another mouthful of something _else_ when he rushes forward, fingers curling around a swallowing neck like an iron vice as she spits what blood she has into his face in defiance.

He merely wipes it away with a rumbling chuckle, the coldness of it seeping far deeper than the Kryptonite does. Which is saying something, because the green is slowly slithering up her spine like a venomous snake and breath is becoming ragged against a swelling tongue.

Powerless.

Kal-El rushes to stop him, but the Kryptonite seems to seep into his bones when _Metallo_ (that’s apparently his name, he likes to throw it around like a trademark) blasts him in the chest, her cousin’s body skittering across the bridge like a lifeless ragdoll and  _Supergirl_ struggles against hands made of steel she can’t bend as the glow of green overtakes her, body raising limply into the air as her bending throat creaks like a rusty metal door underneath the weight of his hand.

Definitely not her most graceful fight.

There’s countless flashes from the few spattered civilians brave enough to remain on the bridge and when one throws something at Metallo's head to distract him, Kara lets out a rasping--

“ _Don’t_ \--”

\--even as the action causes a deathgrip to ease, just a little, because the last thing she wants is for them to die defending her.

Kara really doesn’t want anyone to die, actually. Herself and Kal-El included. Because this shouldn’t be it--it shouldn’t be today--not the day when she’d left Winn asleep on his couch to go stop a robbery. Not the day she hasn’t seen James at all. She hasn’t written Lois. She hasn’t laid out her letters. She’d left a cup of coffee on Cat’s desk with no explanation, this morning and hadn't been the person to leave her lover's third, and had left her relationship with Alex in _tatters_ over a very ill-executed suggestion of Metropolis in her apartment, and they haven’t made it to lunch with _Eliza_ , yet, who is probably making the best sandwiches on any coast, and Kal-El--

Kal-El is stumbling towards them, as powerless as she is from the Kryptonite, and the last daughter of the House of El lets out a quiet, frustrated curse of an apology in Kryptonian, before shoving her hand as hard as she can into the green, glowing pit where a heart should be in this man’s chest with a groan of agony to draw his attention towards her.

Before doing what’s probably the stupidest thing she can think of, but the best option for getting him _off_ this bridge and away from Kal-El--away from the people who are now rushing to help her--

A gasp as fingers claw, memories of a green ring and determined eyes and her sister--her sister--

Kara throws all of her body weight just like her sister had taught her, hand curling in this green abyss (this must feel like what shoving a human’s entire arm into a spreading, _growing_ lava would be) feeling the tendrils of it spreading from her wrist to her arm to her neck. She inhales and exhales and suddenly her breath is green and her eyes are green and her world, weak and small and powerless, is green--

Her leg sweeps underneath his thigh and her nails dig in and pull him  _closer_ , not further away--

And she throws them both off the edge of the bridge with a pained gasp, the only thing she can manage, the man’s grunt of surprise in her ear overtaken by a string of very british-sounding curses.

Because only one of them can fly.

It’s halfway through their descent, however, that Kara realizes neither _one_ of them can fly and swallows, eyes closing as she feels the wind rush through her hair and the sound of screams in her ears, and has just enough time to fish out the bracelet in her breast, bringing it up to her lips with a faint apology, holding it with what strength she still has.

Today should not be the day for this.

She didn’t say goodbye.

\--

The sun is high and bright and beautiful and Kara’s shoulders almost lazily sag underneath the weight of it as she leans against Catherine’s desk, a takeout box settled on wood and a coffee settled very, very close to her chest. A few moments after depositing them, she decides to plop knowingly--easily--into the chair, instead, and it's a testament to how distracted the CEO must be because there isn't even a half-hearted chide dancing along the office walls, dripping with forced insult and barely-concealed amusement.

“Doesn’t it ever grow tiring, Kara?” Cat quietly asks, eyes settled on a clock and Kara has the most ridiculous urge to skim her lover’s fingers along the edge of gold around her wrist, instead. “Knowing I’ll be here at exactly the same time, every morning. Putting out the same fires with different names. Arguing over semantics. Doesn’t a young girl like you find it tedious dealing with the boring, repeatable minutiae of life?”

“I never get tired of seeing you at 7:05 on the dot, Cat. I actually _love_ minutiae.” Kara shakes her head, coming forward with curled fingers at her lap to keep from running them along the lines of a brow that shouldn’t crinkle quite so deeply. Trying to follow the look in her eyes feels like chasing the tail end of a comet through the stars, something she’ll never be quick enough to wrap her fingers around, and when Cat lets a quiet sigh between the gap of her teeth, she feels succinctly like she’s said the wrong thing. “But I…”

“Of course you don’t, Kara. You haven’t been stuck in an endless _Groundhog Day_ cycle of trying to turn around incompetence, doing the same thing for two decades.” Cat cuts her off, focusing back down on the paper underneath her and a small laugh bubbles up, unbidden, on Kara’s lips, trying to cover it with her hand. It rumbles between them and a singular eyebrow arches over the silver frame of glasses in unimpressed question. “I wasn’t aware my problems amused you. I suppose that’s what I get for paying Lucy van Pelt the 5 cents. Hell, you’ve barely even been alive for two decades, you’re like a perky little goldfish floating around, seeing everything for the first time and then forgetting five seconds later.”

Seeing the tension on Cat’s face, Kara tries to take the insult in stride because the moment she’d walked into a building she currently (for a few more hours) isn’t employed at, she could feel the heat off of Cat’s shoulders. And watch the after-effects of it, given the scurrying employees that told her to run while she could the moment she stepped on the 40th floor.

“Okay, forgetting the fact that you just called me a goldfish, I’m only laughing because I…” Eyes flick behind them and she scoots a chair closer to the desk, uninvited, and ignores the sigh she can practically feel bubbling up on familiar shoulders. “It was the word choice, Cat. I literally spent two decades in space. And I mean literally. Twenty-four years of floating around. Doing the same thing.”

It’s a rare treat to see surprise barely widen those eyes and Kara shakes her head.

“...that’s new information.” Cat’s careful with her word choice and Kara still sees that journalist in the corner of her eyes--squinting and quiet--even as she sees the lover in her clearer and clearer each day, in the way her finger so carefully squeezes the edge of her pen.

“It’s _boring_ information.” The last thing she needs in this week is to see mockups on James’ desk referencing her twenty-four year casting as Sleeping (not) Beauty. She’s trying her best to keep Supergirl _out_ of the news this week. She’s been in it enough, with Metallo. “I wasn’t kidding about the floating. But either way, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Cat hums, dipping back in her chair, eyes ever assessing, and Kara leans forward to chase that comet, wrists resting on a desk, “There’s a quote I always think of when I think of you, Catherine--”

“You do realize a person who relies on quotes so often usually does so because they don’t have original thoughts?”

Kara’s eyes barely slit, finger raising, “Okay, that’s the second time. I’m letting you slide because I know you’re obviously stressed and it’s rare for you to talk to me about _anything_ so you’re vulnerable and...and grumpy and I do not want to accidentally get Eve fired so I’m keeping my mouth shut,” She straightens her blouse a little, shoulders tightening as her finger wags, voice even and pointed because sometimes Catherine needs a bit of a push back, “But it’s technically not my job to get you coffee, anymore, and I swear I won’t do it if you keep this up, Ms. Grant. Because this one? This coffee’s mine, and I won’t share.”

Okay, it’s not her best threat.

“Oh, you won’t get me _coffee_ ,” Cat drawls, calling her on it, “My world is ending. It’s almost like I don’t have a thousand nameless employees all perfectly capable of doing menial--”

“ _Cat_ .” Kara’s jaw clenches and her voice sounds every bit as strong as the House of El and, amazingly, she watches fingers pinch at the bridge of a nose before they slowly slide off glasses, a hint of remorse settling in a familiar gaze even if her tone is intentionally--it _must_ be intentionally--bored.

“I’m _sorry_ , whatever.” But dark eyes flick towards the balcony and a small sigh lowers shoulders, quieter--barely a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Kara takes that as her cue to slowly stand, shutting the office door and lowering the blinds--it’s not an uncommon occurrence mid-day for Cat to need a moment, another migraine tucking at the back of her throat--and a softness tips up lips when she sees a familiar hand splayed over the desk like Cat hasn’t expected her to turn around, at all. At the sight of a frown and a down-turned chin, Kara rushes to assure against such a nonsensical fear, voice the same humming volume of the background news coverage she clicks off (an earlier fight between the superheroes and Metallo) when she promises: “I wasn’t leaving, Cat.”

Catherine lets out a slow, slow breath, fingers rubbing at her temples, and Kara leans against a desk--lowers hands with a teasing, knowing bat to an older pair--and lovingly does it for her, hands smoothing against skin underneath the tight line of perfectly-styled hair that falls between them.

“If you scared me off with a couple of mood swings, I wouldn’t have made it past my first hour of working here. _Definitely_ not the morning after we were together the second time.” There’s a faint, almost fond chuckle at the memory of it, “Or maybe I just forget,” It’s sing-song--beaming, “Because I’m a goldfish.”

Cat sags into her hands, a hint of a warm laugh breaking against her wrists, and lips brush over a tilted forehead in a soft gesture--a gentle forgiveness and quiet hello--a hint of gratitude, even, for being able to be right here for her. It’s the equivalent, Kara knows, of not going onto that balcony alone, and she won’t forsake it.

“I should have stuck with golden retriever.” Fingers curl around Kara’s wrist, nose turning into a palm, and when carefully-blackened eyelashes flutter, Kara can see an ocean of open green in Catherine’s eyes.

“Goldfish is fine. I think I like it. Mainly because, normally when people call me a dog, they’re using another word for it and they’re usually very loud.” A sage nod, “ _Very_ angry. And it’s usually? When I’m helping put them in handcuffs.” Her nose wrinkles and Cat laughs and just like that, the day is a little brighter.

“Well the handcuffs could be arranged.” That’s a decidedly lower drawl and Kara flushes from it--crosses her leg on the edge of the desk--bites the edge of her lip underneath the faintest hint of a blush as she leans forward, a breath above Cat’s knowing eyes.

“Well, if you like being tied up, I have a cape that doesn’t fray.” It’s out of her mouth before she realizes she’s even said it and her cheeks turn the same shade as said cape at the image, clearing her throat a little, unused to being so brazen underneath the warmth of the sun but not shying away from it, fingers lowering from temples to skim along a cheek, a moment later hopping up and dutifully retrieving two pills and a glass of water before resuming her perch, those eyes heating skin far better than the sun ever has as she does.

“I like this side of you.” Cat decides, throat bobbing as she swallows the offering.

“Of course you do. Because you’re so certain that it’s all your fault.” The tease causes another laugh and when Cat reaches across the desk, Kara runs fingers along her palm until she can hear her heartbeat ease into the softest staccato among the constant fluttering of pens outside this closed-off office of glass, “If you haven’t the strength to impose your own terms upon life. You must accept the terms it offers you.”

“That’s the quote?” A thoughtful hum, but Cat doesn’t pull away, taking another drag of water as elegantly as a socialite might a glass a wine. “That sounds...familiar.”

“T.S. Eliot,” Kara supplies, “ _The Confidential Clerk_.”

“Of course, everything you could have possibly quoted by T.S. Eliot and some obscure play marks the top of the list.” The glass sets down on the edge of a desk, a reflection of Cat’s quirking lips caught along the edge of it like how stars catch in the glass of her bedroom window, at night.

“ _I’m_ not the one that likes to drop _Superfluous Man_ into the middle of a conversation.” Kara challenges and Cat leans fully back in her chair, fingers idly twining in a familiar pair, so casual and thoughtless that it makes a young smile soften.

“Oh, I really like this side of you.” A nail skims along the inside of Kara’s index finger and she laughs, raising it up to smiling lips.

“My point,” Kara tries because she’s hardly as motivational as the woman she’s attempting to motivate, “Is that you’re a strong woman, Cat, and in anything I’ve ever seen you do--anything you’ve _ever_ done? _You’re_ the one making the terms. You didn’t like that journalism was male-dominated--had no place for women, at all--so you one-upped the scene. You created every form of media sensation possible with, yes, a whole lot of work, you never stop telling any of us about the work, but you did it. Journalism, news, TV, radio. I’m sure people told you you couldn’t be a single mother and a CEO and CatCo is better than ever. And Carter is the smartest, most talented, brilliant kid I’ve ever met.”

Cat hums, a hint of pride flashing over a wistful smile at mention of her son, “That’s certainly true.”

“Even in the hard things, when you gave _up_ your son,” Kara gently reminds, “Society says you can’t have it both ways, and you’re making things with Adam work--and before you blame me for any of that,” Kara raises her free hand, “This relationship with him? It’s all you. It’s on both of your terms, not what anyone else thinks of it.”

A slow, almost shaking breath straightens shoulders, “Also insightful, in a very odd way.”

A beat, "This  _isn't_ about the dinner with Adam, right?" 

Thankfully, Cat smiles, "No." So Kara continues, thankful and _glad_ (and thinking that she should really go check that Facebook message).

“You paved the way, Cat. For women. You paved the way for all of us to be taken seriously without having to dress like _men_ , either. Which, you know, is nice. Please no comments about my wardrobe.” That's a hasty addition, flushing and barreling on before Cat can get a word in edge-wise, “You’re a mother and successful. You have a portfolio that your accountant says is so well-rounded you could have your own gravitational field.” Kara shakes her head, pressing, “Even our relationship, Cat,” It’s gentler, voice dipping the same moment Cat’s eyelashes do, “We’re against all odds here, but instead of giving up, you created the terms. We both did. We’re making it work so far, aren’t we?”

“It’s been _a few days_ , Kara.” Kara can hear it. She can hear Catherine’s breath catch against the edge of teeth--can feel her pulse barely quicken--but the almost shy smile that tucks up the edges of curving lips, amused and fond, is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“It’s been _five months,_ Catherine. Almost six.” It’s an argument she’ll never give up and the fact that Cat doesn’t even try is more than telling, “And we’ve survived. We’re forging new relationship territory, remember? You’re...you’re a woman who changes the world without changing herself to fit it. I’m in awe of it, sometimes, Cat. It’s hard not to be. But it’s just who you are. So why...why would this be any different? You’re talking about CatCo, right? About being unhappy here?”

A grousing hum is all the answer Kara needs, because this is a subject they've broached only in the darkest mist of night.

“Because it’s my entire company, Kara. It’s…” Cat sucks in a breath, frustration quickly overwhelming any traces of her smile, “I’ve spent so long building this empire. This image. My family and--”

“And the things you love, that you throw your whole heart into, aren't as disposable as you want to think.” Kara boldly notes, watching the way Cat's fingers barely flex and leaning closer before she can pull away, voice quiet, because she doesn’t think this is about them, she knows it’s about Cat. Cat’s happiness. And to Kara, that's  _more_ important than them. “I don't know what you're thinking of, Cat. I just know... you're not happy with the way things are here, anymore. I get it. And I know you could never leave CatCo or anything,” She laughs at the ridiculous thought and looks curiously at the profile of a woman who suddenly seems content to look through the windows to a balcony overlooking her city--content to look anywhere but Kara. “I know we talk a lot about duty and...that people depend on us.” Kara doesn’t like the way Cat seems to be caught outside, reaching forward to gently tuck up a chin--to bring a gaze up to meet her own away from the city they’ve sworn to protect. “But there's so many ways to help the world, aren't there? And if the way CatCo is doing it isn't what you want anymore...then I don't think anyone on this planet--on _any_ planet, and I've been to a lot of them--is more capable of changing the terms of the world to fit how she thinks the world should be. If you’re not happy, you’ll change it.”

“You...really mean that, don't you? You really think it could just be that easy. Just change the world.” Cat scoffs a little, but there's something so hopeful in her eyes, Kara's words a near tipping point in a game of dominoes. Kara doesn't know what she's done, and likely never will. “You’re so young.”

“Maybe.” Kara concedes, “On this subject you’re definitely the mentor.” Her smile turns sheepish, “Okay, on most subjects you’re my mentor. In fact, I’ve spent a long time studying you, Cat--I'm still adamant that that was part of my job description--so you should be able to take my word for why I believe it’s possible. It’s because _you’ve_ already done it. Your whole life. If you're not happy, and I think you deserve to be happy--you deserve...so much. To be happy,” It’s cold when she drops fingers from a chin, offering a supportive smile, instead, “Then you'll find a way. And if there's anything I can do at all, to help…”

A hand waves towards herself--hopeful and eager and honest--not understanding the hint of conflict settling so deeply, however brief, on Cat's features.

It’s only a moment--a flicker of vulnerability--but she’ll never forget it, the faint flicker of something dark casting shadows over the bright light of Catherine’s lips. It makes Kara stumble a little over the words, enamored by it:

“You should focus on it. The being happy part, remember?”

Kara thinks it must be the weight of figuring out what to do with CatCo--even feels a naive, righteous sense of warmth in her chest from having helped in even the smallest ways--and she'll never quite understand the look in Cat's eyes.

Because that’s the thing with those small, hidden moments before everything changes, it’s impossible to recognize them as lasts until they’re gone. Kara has pockets full of moments just like this one stuffed in a hidden compartment by her heart--her mother’s fingers skimming along the edge of a necklace as she explains love; her father’s eyes brightening as he taps knuckles along a sculpture; Astra’s lips in a dream brushing over her forehead; and this, this moment of Cat’s eyes haunted and conflicted, holding onto something like a planet that’s turning green from the inside out, determined to take the galaxy with it.

Kara towers over Catherine and watches green eyes catch in the sun, the memory burnt on the back of eyelids with a unforgiving sting of a fountain pen. There’s a breath that tumbles from Catherine’s parted lips that _means_ something in its indefinite silence--that hints towards a lifetime of possibilities unsaid--and Catherine almost says something--maybe almost says _everything_ \--and this small, simple little exchange is what will play on repeat for months.

Kara Danvers will play it over and over and over again like nails desperately scratching at a broken record. She'll replay the way Cat's hair falls in front of her eyes as her nose dips. The way that her eyes almost shine above those shadows of her cheeks. The way her breath rattles and quakes. The way those fingers curl nails in anxiety and promise.

The way Catherine's lips part and she...says nothing, at all.

_What did you want to say?_

Kara will beg her to say it. She’ll never scream--never fall to her knees in rage and loss--she’ll never argue or even actually ask anyone but a figment of a ghost of someone she swore not to love--she’ll beg an empty corner of her bed that’s no longer cold, and that’s worse, somehow.

But right now, happy and light and carefree, Kara doesn't notice, instead drumming her fingers on the edge of a desk with a light shrug, too busy trying to pull Cat out of her own head to dive into it, instead. Because that’s her job, these days, she feels, even when she doesn’t exactly have one--to keep Catherine from collapsing in on herself like a singularity with hope and love, alone.

“I was only kidding about not getting you coffee.” Kara smiles and Cat's eyelashes flutter as she lets out that almost quivering breath, nails curling into her desk. It must be nerves or exhaustion but Kara is determined to help cure either, promising, “Let me go grab it for you. Before you can tell me it's not my job, I want to.” A genuine smile, “The little things. I won’t be able to come back here today, anyways, so I’d...like to.”

A foot turns on a heel, intent on walking away and she makes it to the door, fingers curling around warm metal but knowing better to raise the blinds until Cat is ready. Something else she'll have to inform Eve and she's so focused on mentally running through the list in her desk--distracted by the thought of making sure that Ms. Grant has the best replacement possible (did she miss telling Eve anything, while she's here?)--that she almost misses the way Cat's voice quakes when she barely whispers her name.

“Kara?”

Another turn on her heel with a soft hum of question, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of a nose. The sun has settled in Golden hair and showcases the shadows underneath eyes and for one of the few times Kara will ever see it, Catherine Grant visibly hesitates.

Her mouth stills--words halt--and her lips press a thin line. The smile that follows is forced but genuine, something deep cemented in resolution in the depth of her lover's eyes as she jokes:

“My hero.” There’s a quiver at the edge of her lips--a shine to that endless, painting of eyes before Cat’s looking back down. Back to work. “Scalding hot, please.”

But there sounds like there's truth in it--like Cat believes she's a hero through and through--and it makes Kara beam, turning around to get that third latte of the day.

“Anything for you, Ms. Grant.”

Her phone dings at Noonan’s ten minutes later, a freeze-frame of stolen pictures and a spatula there to greet smiling eyes.

**_Thank you._ **

Teeth tuck at lips and when her phone buzzes again, blue soften and for a second the latte she’s grabbed might actually feel warm against her open hand.

“Boyfriend?” Eve’s tired voice--Kara sympathizes because boy does she still remember her first day, even if this is technically Eve's second--calls around her shoulder, light and kind and knowing and she quickly tucks away her phone, shrugging a shoulder.

“Just a nice text for a nice day.” She offers, instead, eyes flicking down to the mug before raising it up, “Think you’re ready to deliver this one on your own?”

Eve looks terrified.

“Oh, come on, I promise, it won’t be that bad. You’ve done it twice and she hasn’t killed you, right?”

Kara takes another look at her phone, wise enough to hide her smile, this time.

**_I’m sorry._ **

A quick reply hidden by her hip--

_I’m sticking by the goldfish. It’s forgotten. Really. We’re more than ok Cat. Eve’s bringing you your caffeine fix so please be nice._

Adding for good measure--

_Please be nice *Ms. Grant*. Typo?_

Even better measure:

_Ms. Grant, who has the right to fire anyone she wants but should be nice anyways. ;) Gosh, look at those typos._

She can hear Cat’s indulgent, annoyed sigh forty floors down. The blinds are back up and Kara smiles over Eve’s shoulder the entire time when Cat shoots her a knowing look but wordlessly takes the latte and that’s enough of a victory for Kara. It should be a simple moment, lost and forgotten, moving about her day with no clue--no idea.

“You don’t work here, anymore, Kiera.” Cat calls to her with a glance at a watch, “Seven hours.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant. Consider me not here.”

“Like anyone could shield their eyes, you're like a walking Forever 21 ad.” But Catherine’s smiling now with a flick of a dismissive hand, Eve looking after her like she’s awaiting a nuclear bombing.

Kara’s decidedly not a goldfish. She doesn’t forget.

She sighs in a big, white, empty office, fingers running along stuffed-away pictures, sagging onto a table as she drums nails along her desk and frowns.

Idly, she plans to get a picture made of the one of Cat on her phone--plans to gently tuck it in a safe place right next to J’onn--and leaves before she can think anymore about a ticking clock, sipping on her own coffee, not bothering to heat it.

Lena’s name lights up the screen of her phone and Kara shoots up into the sky a few minutes later, unable to shake the look on Cat’s face, leaning over a desk, a thousand words left unsaid, and Kara isn’t sure why.

It's the beginning of an end--such simple things usually are--and anytime Kara ever thinks back on it, she'll cry.

\--

The last thing she sees is Kal-El, stumbling and just as powerless as her, diving after her over the edge of the bridge, whatever words croaking out of his lips lost to the sound of the wind.

_khap zhalish_

The last thing she hears is the sound of Metallo hitting the water and going silent.

\--

“Alex, I’m not saying I’m going to Metropolis, I’m just--”

“Leaving? What is that like our family motto? Did you ever stop to think that I’ve changed my whole _life_ \--”

\--

The last thing she does is smile up at Kal-El, trying to assure him as best she can, despite the fear that slowly settles in the pit of her stomach. Falling, at least, feels a lot like flying.

\--

“J’onn?” Kara whispers, fingers tenting over a knee as her chin falls down to it, eyes flicking over towards the familiar, somber face. He hums in acknowledgment, the afternoon sun painting the shining floors of the new DEO building in a way Kara is still getting used to. Everything is so...shiny now. Not all...rock-lair, cave-motif.

“Supergirl?” His voice is gruff as always and she wonders if he would understand what it’s like to not sleep for nearly six days, because she’s certain he sounds like he’s never slept, at all.

“Do you think we can ever be happy? I mean, sure we can, right? Saving the world...” She trails off, chin tipping back as she searches the lines of an exposed ceiling, the words to her question lost on her tongue, unsure how to phrase it outside of her mind, “I know we’ll stop Cadmus--I mean, who comes up with a name like that, anyways? What does that even mean--and we’ll stop whoever comes after that, and I know that the world is full of _rules_ . Especially for people like us. But one of those rules...one of those rules _has_ to be that we should be happy, right?”

“I think…” Kara doesn’t look at his face, but his voice sounds so calm--so confident--so steady as his fingers curl around her shoulder, “If there’s anyone that deserves to find out, it’s you and your cousin.”

“You think?”

“I _know_ , Ms. Danvers.” She turns to take in his smile, then, and she leans into his hand before the squeeze becomes a pat. “You’re still not sure which job--”

“No.” Kara sighs, “It's not that. I think I know, I just...I wonder some days if--I mean, between Alex and Kal-El and _Cat_ \--”

“J’onn!” A voice calls around the corner, “We’ve got reports of a jumper on--”

\--

The last thing she thinks before the impact of the ocean engulfing her like an unwanted gift, the pain rattling like a broken baby’s toy through her shattering bones, is that Eliza? Alex?

Catherine?

They’re going to _kill her_ if she dies.

The water soaks through her suit, ice and lifeless, staining the white of a list until it crumples so that when it’s unfolded, for the rest of its life, it will never unfold the same way, again. Like the thin line of glass that can never be repaired to its first form, an uncompleted list will crumple at the edges and fold in uneven lines, some of the ink running at the edges.

It will change--break and mend--just like a heart can.

\--

**Rule #72….**

**\--**

Life isn’t as dramatic as the movies--as the books she spent years pouring over bent knees devouring--and maybe hurtling herself and a man bent on destroying dozens of people (herself and her cousin, included) off of a bridge is maybe a little dramatic by nature, but waking up from it isn’t.

She wakes up to an empty room, the heat of a sunlamp staining the rise and fall of her chest with life.

She wakes to a dozen voicemails and one text, in particular, that makes her swallow--she wakes to Kal-El’s smiling, cut face as they both heal--she wakes having not really slept, at all, five and a half days lacking it settling down her healing bones underneath a false Sol just as much as the Kryptonite had.

She wakes up to J'onn's nervous eyes and Alex  _gone_ and doesn’t let herself heal and Kal-El doesn’t ask her to. She wakes to her sun having set and the world tasting like cold and green and she tucks a bracelet back in her pocket, not having let go of it for a moment--a breath--the entire time she laid there.

Kara wakes up, maybe, but she doesn't feel awake.

Kara tears apart the city to find her sister and doesn’t let her go when she does, a murmured apology in her ear that’s doubled ten-fold against her neck.

She wakes and heals and saves and a few hours later, all four of them--J’onn, Kal-El, Alex, and Kara--are once again in two separate cities, determined to protect the people within them, moonlight at their backs.

Death doesn’t stop them, and neither does Metallo. She rips out his heart and barely keeps from crushing it beneath her palm.

Kara doesn’t remember being in the water--doesn’t remember much save for falling--but she’ll see the headlines of the image of Superman cradling her body against his chest as he stumbles out of the ocean like a beacon as he _holds her_ , a bracelet limply hanging from her fingers as the sun settles on his shoulders and dances shadows on her bruised, barely recognizable features. Both of their forms cut and bruised and hanging on the edge of life, war-torn and  _martyrs._

She’ll see the picture hung on the edge of what was once Catherine Grant’s wall, along with their other highest-selling covers--right next to the one of them both healing, scraped and bruised, towering over Metallo--for months every time she walks into the office and feels a chill hang over her features.

She doesn’t remember, but she’ll see that picture and will shatter a breath against her teeth and understand why Cat couldn’t bear to look at it, at all.

The whole night is spent tracking Cadmus with little to show for it and, eventually, in the early hours of the morning--day _6_ because being in some kind of coma or something does _not_ count as sleeping--Kara hugs Kal-El tighter than anyone else could, feeling Alex’s fingers on her shoulder, and tells him that she’s staying.

She’s staying. That’s a decision she knows how to make. She’s not going to Metropolis. She’s never going to Metropolis, not as long as Alex is here.

So Kara watches him shoot off into the twilight sky, taking a piece of herself with him--thankfully taking the last of the Kryptonite, as well--before she kisses her sister’s cheek and shoots off, herself.

It’s nearly five in the morning when she sets down on a familiar balcony and wonders why she isn’t surprised to see Cat leaning on the edge of it, swirling a glass in her palm. Either she stayed here the entire night--unlikely, given Carter--or just started early, but the circles unhidden, silhoutting the features of familiar eyes is telling, enough, and Kara has to swallow down more than breath when she comes closer.

Without a word, bruised fingers gently untuck a bracelet from a suit, a little _squeezed_ but since cleaned (haphazardly cleaned in a DEO sink by her cousin at Kara’s pleading, pleading look, and then feverishly cleaned the moment Kara could stand on trembling knees an hour later) and offers it palm up to the woman next to her as their shoulders brush, settling next to her on the balcony.

It’s not unusual that Kara doesn’t know the right words to say--it’s a daily occurrence--so when Catherine takes a long, long drag of the liquid before reaching forward, nails almost reverently skimming along the expensive, bent bracelet, Kara doesn’t bother trying. Instead, she just holds the bracelet up as Cat becomes reacquainted with it--dips fingers underneath the shine of it--and when her lover’s breath finally rattles into the night, Kara doesn’t mention the wet sheen to dark eyes, clear even so high above the city, lights dim and quiet. She just gently unhooks the bracelet and slides it around Cat’s wrist, raising it up to her lips and kissing it in silent apology, just as she had before plummeting into the ocean. Not that she would tell Catherine she’d done that, at all.

That doesn't seem like knowledge that would help.

At least this time, she feels a heartbeat flutter underneath her touch.

And Catherine’s so slow about it, the way her wrist turns and so carefully cups Kara’s cheek in a trembling palm, thumb brushing over the high rise, underneath the worst of her still-healing cuts, that Kara wouldn’t know the words even if she _tried_ to stumble over them.

“That is not what I meant by diving. You certainly like causing a spectacle of yourself, don’t you?” It’s a dry whisper--like a barrel full of whiskey, a burning match hovering above it--and Kara just leans into her. It’s been a long day and there’s familiarity in it, a hint of a laugh flushing cool cheeks.

“Someone likes to tell me I like being difficult.” Kara swallows because the thin smile Cat’s attempted gives way to something else, leaning down to slot their foreheads together and the quaking anger does little to overrun the hint of something far worse on her lover’s tongue.

“We have nearly three dozen witness testimonies regarding your idiotic heroics, and none of them understood the gravity of what happened in front of them. Pictures showing you _bleeding_ before you practically _backflipped_ off of the bridge. You could have--”

“I came home to you.” It’s gentle and loving and a little desperate, lips brushing over a forehead and Cat’s fingers tangle so tightly in her suit that she can barely breathe. “Catherine--”

“You’re _still_ bleeding.” It’s a searing breath that curls up in pain at the end, Cat’s fingers tracing the wound below a bloodshot eye and Kara catches her wrist with a faint wince as that jaw lines itself with steel and features contort in something indistinguishable before Catherine pulls away altogether. Voice far colder: “You missed your deadline--”

Kara selfishly kisses her like her life depends on it--like she can’t catch Catherine with fingers or words, so she tries chasing her with this, instead--pressing her up against glass with a withering, breaking sigh against parting lips. Fingers tangle in her hair and the sound of a bracelet clattering to the floor is lost underneath the scratch of heels, because Kara had forgotten to re-clasp it.

“I don’t care about my deadline.” Kara kisses her again because the further and further Kal-El shoots into the sky, the further the green seeps out of her bones and she knows she can keep Cat here against her with super-strength, but she’d rather keep her with something far darker in the pit of her chest. Almost accusing: “You came up here to wait for me.”

“I wouldn’t--” Catherine practically _hisses_ , a frustrated breath on the edge of her tongue rolling like a locomotive up her lungs, her hands cupping cheeks and tugging her close. “ _Yes_. I had to see you with my own eyes.”

“I’m right here.” Kara promises, pulling away so that Cat’s fingers can trace every single line of her face like her thumbs are far more knowing than her eyes. And they might be. She sucks in a sharp breath when a thumb swipes underneath that same cut, surprised when Cat tugs her down and gently brushes lips underneath the puckered edge of healing skin.

Catherine kisses her again, consuming and rough, and Kara’s knees shake before she's suddenly pushed her away, again, just as rough and just as consuming, jaw setting.

“We’re crashing the cover.”

“You’re--” Kara blinks because it’s five AM and she doesn’t know how she missed the noise--the life in the building--because her ears are still full of Kryptonite and her lungs might still be full of water, “Oh.”

“You don’t work here, anymore.” Cat straightens her hair--her blouse--sets aside her drink and stands taller than Kara knows how to, shoulders wilting and something quaking pushing through parted lips.

“...oh.” A hint of a desperate laugh, wishing she at least had the bracelet to hold onto because suddenly she feels very, very cold, surprised when fingers gently tuck up her chin and she comes face to face with Catherine’s determined, unwavering gaze. There’s something sad there, now--something Kara’s well aware she’s put there--and it makes her swallow feel like glass. But still she can’t stomach the thought of Metropolis, not now. Not after holding Alex’s trembling hands and not after seeing the look in Cat’s eyes. “I’ll--”

“I extended your deadline.” Cat whispers and Kara blinks.

“You--” Another blink, unable to help the surprise. A third blink because-- “Really?”

“Kara, I’m tough, not cruel.” Her voice is quieter, then, fingers falling from a chin and Kara boldly catches them.

“I don’t think you’re cruel, I just--”

“Thought that I was going to fire you for trying to save someone’s life on the off-chance that you were stupid enough to die?” Cat supplies and Kara swallows.

“Well, I--no? Not exactly...that. Maybe fired me to make a poi--”

“Stop talking before you dig yourself into a hole superstrength wouldn’t get you out of. I’m well aware of what people think of me, I don’t need to add what _your_ pedaling little thoughts are to the--”

Kara reaches up to cup her cheeks in a way that makes Cat visibly tense, words dying out before she smiles, “You don’t want to hear that I think the world of you? I know it’s a little too cheesy for your tastes.”

“You really have to stop talking.” Cat warns but there’s a hint of a smile there, now, and lips brush over a forehead, holding the smaller form against her chest for as long as she’s allowed. Which is longer than expected, long fingers gently raising to spread out over a heart as a nose slots against a neck. Kara can feel the heat of the sun--faint and faraway, but there--on her back by the time Cat untangles herself, a rough sigh sliding past her lips. She bends down and clasps the bracelet properly on her wrist, now.

“Catherine,” Kara murmurs before she can go too far, kissing the rise of knuckles before letting her lover go, completely, “I’m not saying that I think what I did was...okay. I’m not trying to make you feel better, but I...did. Come home to you. I’ll always come home to you, if I can. You’re--you’re what gave me the strength to--”

Cat raises a hand up in-between them, stopping Kara in her tracks, and the look on her face, however brief, is pained enough that Kara feels regret over saying anything at all. The bracelet jangles as the hand lowers and the CEO of CatCo looks back towards her lit office, shoulders straightening and heels clicking, a discarded drink on the nearby balcony table.

“You have until Friday afternoon, 4 O’clock, not a moment later. You’re not stepping foot here in any form of professional capacity until then.”

“Okay.” Kara breathes--nods--looks back up and clears her throat at the straight line of shoulders she wishes she could spend hours easing the knots out of with well-intentioned fingers. Knots she caused. And she thinks Catherine was right, this weekend--she does have to learn how to live with affecting her. “Thank you...Ms. Grant.”

Cat nods and leaves and the balcony feels colder for it.

As cold as the city seems without Kal-El--without Kryptonite, even--and Supergirl turns to tower over her city for a few more minutes before falling down to the street, to the corner around the corner, leaning against the wall by Noonan’s.

She strips off her suit and slowly pulls up jeans--a shirt--and looks down at glasses, cracked along an edge she’ll need to fix, cupped in her palm as the sun starts to rise. She listens to the city wake and the life paint the streets in gold and red and green and with a suit tucked in her bag, a cut slowly healing underneath her eye, Kara Danvers starts the long walk home to an empty apartment across the city.

Alive and exhausted and cold, she doesn't really feel like flying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Kara ever gonna pick her job? Who knows.
> 
> \--
> 
> **Kryptonian Translations, Mythos, and other DC shenanigans** Source(s)  
> [Language](http://kryptonian.info/doyle/dictionary.html)  
> ** **Zhalish** : Pardon, excuse, absolve, disregard, exonerate. Another way of saying "I'm sorry". **verb** P: [n̩.ʒæ.liʃ]; Kryptonian: :ZAliS


	9. Crash (Ukiem Khap...)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It’s been a while since I got to watch everyone crash the cover.”_  
>     
>  _“Ah,” Catherine hums, teeth crunching a candy shell, “Right.” A wave of fingers as she holds a small little orb of ill-lit yellow, “You weren’t here for the last one. Something about a spaceship being embedded in your head.”_
> 
> _“Right.” Kara slowly unwraps the candy bar with more reverence than she had tugging off Catherine’s dress a few minutes prior. But, then again, as empty as the building is, if curious eyes had happened to look, no one would give her a sideways look for sensually unwrapping a candy bar._
> 
> _That’s just a Thursday._
> 
> _Unwrapping their CEO on the other hand…_
> 
> _Well, no one in the office knows that that is also kind of a beautiful, wonderful Thursday for Kara Danvers, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's that second chapter of the week I promised. The next one will be up in short order (mostly finished). I'd debated tying the two together, but this one is already so long, so...they came out the way they are for a reason. Or something like that. Needless to say, the next chapter for this will be in short order. Also! The next chapter for my other story (Time Drift) should be out soon (tomorrow?) as well. Sorry about the delay on that.
> 
> I want to thank everyone (so much!) for the constant feedback and support--you guys are seriously the best. :) I couldn't do it without you. 
> 
> Another day...an actual rule, this time! This format does bump around, a bit, but I'd love to hear what you think. It's 3 AM here and we all know how well I (do not) articulate at 3 AM, so I'm going to leave this note here.
> 
> Kryptonian phrases at the bottom. 
> 
> Thanks all and let me know what you think!

**Rule #47. No sex on the same night as deadlines. Deadlines always come first.**

\--

**3:12 AM.**

The spread is impeccable--it’s always impeccable, really, after Cat’s finished with it--and a ring of coffee’s trickled a moon’s dance around porcelain white along the protected surface of the large art desk. A formidable table set in the corner of CatCo’s resident Art Director’s office. Protected acrylic is a crowning frame to the articles hung around the tilted desk, pictures adorning words with heralding, artistic grace and a flare that  _screams_ Jimmy Olsen. It’s been a long day in CatCo’s pen and the hallways are littered with exhausted bodies like they’ve just seen through a war, 3 AM (an hour before Cat needs to finalize the print before sending it off for the early morning run, thank Rao for technology) has come and gone a little past, most people either crashing at their desks or slowly filtering out into the empty National City streets to head home.

Kara spent an hour in an empty office at 2 AM staring at the picture of Kal-El holding her in his cut arms until she found herself in front of the completed spread, at all, discovering Cat Grant’s own personal form of victory high the moment she’d followed the crook of a slender finger.

She couldn’t erase the picture of Kal-El’s eyes as much as she could erase the feeling of Cat’s, unrelenting and haunting and _warm_.

James, himself, had left this very office twenty minutes prior, sleepy smile greeting a friend’s peace offering of hot coffee on his trek home, Kara Danvers there to rally the troops into the night even if she technically shouldn’t be at CatCo, at all.

Not that that stopped her.

After all, Kara Danvers is a stickler for rules, but Cat Grant’s issuing order to her the night before had been that she wasn’t allowed in the building in any  _professional_ capacity, and given the fact that she was also benched (due to Doctor’s Orders of sleep and rest at the DEO, neither of which she’s enjoyed much of), she’s found great comfort in this oversight.

Which might be why she’s been a constant presence here, all day, wandering aimlessly (careful not to disrupt the flow, relying on her most impressive talent of simply  _blending in_ amidst the chaos) as every one of her colleagues pitched into overdrive to help crash the cover.

She’s happy not to blend into the wood-work, now.

The acrylic of the desk has seen countless scratches from a pen’s tick, but there’s suddenly five more that adorn its surface, long lines slowly digging down the edges, scraping to catch the edge and failing miserably, a stack of proofs scattering to the floor in a fluttering symphony from the sharp sweep of an arm.

Hours and hours of hundreds of employees’ lost work fluttering like jagged snowflakes to a white floor as a gasp breaks against a shoulder and Kara can’t even bring herself to feel all that remorseful--okay, she does feel a  _little_ bad, but that doesn’t last nearly as long as the heat does--breath catching.

Heels clatter next to the pages--one followed by a rough  _thud_ , the next followed by a groan, flinging halfway across the room--a pink stiletto showcasing the gruff picture of this week’s politician’s highlights.

The other heel has cast its lot in the working roulette wheel on a flashing green aura--a picture of the villain who almost took down the  _Wonder Twins_ , as Catherine Grant is calling them around the office, this week--the CEO had suggested the name  _Green Goblin_ until her ex-assistant had run fingers along the edge of a sharp jawline in memory and murmured--

_Metallo._

\--over lunch. The name had carved granite against the edges of usually-smiling teeth from the way it shook and the circles under blue eyes had set like chiseled lines of stone in her usually vibrant cheeks and Cat had looked up at her across a sea of white the same moment Brad roughly jostled her shoulder to get passed.

Unassuming (jobless) Kara Danvers didn’t think to hide her wince, rubbing at a shoulder, and she felt that  _look_ down into the depths of her stomach--felt fire licking at the wick of her nails--and had quietly excused herself from the desk and avoided Cat’s eyes at all cost, for the rest of the day.

But she didn’t miss the way Cat’s eyes lingered on the picture Kara had spent an hour memorizing over a too-white desk.

She didn’t miss the way Cat’s eyes lingered on her in the hallway.

She doesn’t miss how Cat’s eyes linger on her, now.

Now, everything is scattered along the mids as long fingers tangle in long locks and long legs wrap around long arms and strong biceps flex underneath a strong, unrelenting voice. Wicked teeth and wicked tongue and every single rule lost along words they couldn’t place if they tried.  

“If you...had a job.” Naked and sprawled among the pages, silver glasses pushed down to the edge of a nose, askew. “You would...be fired...for this.”

“I'm...lucky I have...an eidetic--Ahh--” It’s a groan of a pant as the taller of the two forms rolls over into a familiar hip, tugging out a stapler from underneath her back on the floor and tossing it across the room, wincing when it undeniably shatters.

Oops.

A huff through flaring nostrils sounds to her left.

“You’re fixing this. I am not risking my company because you wanted a qui--ck--hmm--” For once, Kara rolls over onto a panting form and cuts Catherine off, stealing any breath her lover might have with an eager, slow mouth until she feels her heart relax in the back of her ears. “Kara.” Cat protests the moment Kara pulls back because that same eager mouth traces a very, very knowing trail downwards, biting at a neck. “I--fuck, don’t you  _dare_ \--” It’s a hiss when Kara bites a little too hard, tongue soothing the roughness of it with a small, apologetic breath. “You’re--”

“You started this. And you said...you were worried about me.” Kara tips a chin back to suck an earlobe and to breathe her in and she can  _feel_ the smallest smile in the air between them. When she pulls back just enough to see it, showcased underneath a faint desk lamp, it takes her breath away. “I’ll take care of it.” And just with that--with that sole promise--Cat’s body relaxes, just a little.

Probably because Kara has spent two and a half years telling Catherine she would take care of it and making sure she kept her word, every time.

“I did no such thing.”

“Okay, so you  _looked_ all...worried. All day. Distinctly worried with the frown and the--” Kara waves a finger between knit brows towards Catherine’s very unamused face, hand smoothing down an abdomen a moment later, drumming fingers along hips, “That. That look. The look on your face right now.”

“The look that says that I’m going to throw you out of the window like Perry White with a chair?” Cat arches up into her despite the protest, hands moving up to rake through unruly, desperate strands.

“No,” Kara huffs, crawling up the length of her body, hands spreading on either side of Catherine’s head, holding herself up on arms that glow for more than one reason underneath moonlight in James Olsen’s office. “You smile when you think of throwing me out of a window--” On cue, Cat’s lip tucks up on the edge and Kara’s so glad to be close enough to see it, “Hey, stop it.” Cat laughs (dazzling and shameless) and then schools features into a serious face that would make J’onn proud. Which…makes Kara a little nervous, given how quickly she was able to pull that off. “Oh, look, no smile. See? You’re worrie--hey.”

Cat lovingly swats the back of her head, obviously knowing full well that Kara can’t feel it, a hint of a smile that’s far more genuine and far less long-lasting, slipping off her features.

“Of course I’m worried.” The smile drops fully--serious and quiet and  _furious_ , like she’s read another political tweet before lunch,  _140 characters_ limited and poignant and resting on the edge of her lover’s tongue like fire, “You were hurt. More than once this week, might I add, you almost  _died_ yesterday and you’re starting to look like that crypt keeper in  _Animal Cemetery--_ ”

“Oookay,” It’s a breathy drawl, a hint of a laugh caught in flaring nostrils, “I’ll work on not being offended by that. My confidence is taking a serious nosedive, today, with all the compliments. My sister? Told me I was starting to look like Keith Richard’s balls in a  _bath_? Which, was, well…” She scoffs, “ _Rude_  and this is not helping. In the meantime,” Kara’s mouth drags down clenching, quivering muscles--down a gasping, fluttering stomach--down arching hips and spreading thighs. She curls her fingers underneath knees and looks up at Catherine’s anxious, yearning eyes, covered underneath the edge of a press table in shadows and moonlight and a singular, ineffective desk lamp. “I’m showing you how okay I am.”

“Kara.” Cat’s fingers tangle a little harder in her hair, like she’s intent on keeping her here in tugs and desperate, clenching fingers, and Kara leans up to kiss the sliver of skin of a bicep that’s visible. The fingers barely shake--almost imperceptible--but it’s Cat’s eyes that are endless and open and Kara wouldn’t dare shift her lips from that small little sliver of skin. Not when she can feel the faintest vibration of a pulse underneath it with every rise and fall of breath. Cat’s fingers curl even tighter and push her downwards and there’s nothing but certainty lingering along the edges of her lover’s jaw even if there’s lingering fear in those eyes. “You beat him.”

“We beat him.” Kara agrees, humming as Catherine insistently pushes her further down, roughly sliding her lover up underneath the hook of knees--dragging beautiful skin along mountains of paper, the noise of sheets ruffling and wrinkling as beautiful as the sound of a book’s page turning--to wrap thighs around cheeks. To hear that pulse in her ears.

Suddenly, she isn’t cold, anymore. She doesn’t feel ice on her spine, at all.

“We beat him, I healed, and I came home.”

“You came home.” Catherine eagerly--desperately--agrees, mouth parting in a way Kara can _feel_ in the tremor of mountains around her shoulders.

“I came—"

“ _Kara_ —”

“Home.”

\--

The day is (thankfully) one of the least interesting in all of Kara’s days, as far as…explosions or alien invasions or near-death crises go.

But it’s been special, too.

Like magic, watching CatCo paint life along blank canvases like painters with words and determination and _angles_.

Yelling, angry, frantic, beautiful magic.

\--

Ice.

She sees Kal-El diving after her, and sees her mother’s hands curl in his shoulders—Astra’s hands on a knife—sees Alex tumbling over the edge of a bridge as Catherine—

The sleep doesn’t last long and Kara bolts upright with a faint, pained gasp, when she feels that ice wrap around her spine, sheets falling down as she clenches her fingers around—something.

Some—

Nothing.

Nothing’s in her palm and when Kara opens her hand, she realizes nothing ever was, blinking owlishly, the tension in her back easing a little when she feels familiar hands sliding up her back, curling over shoulders.

Muscle memory is a powerful thing.

It takes her a moment to realize she’s not asleep, at all. Wonders if she ever really was, and she knows that if she doesn’t actually get a decent few hours in—

“It’s okay. Hey—” A whisper in her ear, soft and familiar and safe, Kara’s swallow thick and sharp as that ice melts to glass in her throat and then that glass melts into a choked, breathless sob of a laugh. Water. Water in her lungs like—

“I’m sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Those same hands pull her back and soon Kara’s enveloped in a familiar soft scent, immediately twisting around to bury a nose in a warm neck—in that warm, constant familiarity—as strong fingers curl tighter into shoulders, sheets crumpling around their hips as a decidedly-not-super girl tries to measure her breath.

“I’ve got you.” She’s so calm and so confident and so… _Alex._ Kara’s fingers quake as they curl, desperately trying not to hold too tight—never too tightly—as they skim along a tank top, smoothing underneath mussed hair and gently tugging her sister against her, both of their bodies settling on the too-small bed in her apartment. The sun slowly warms the discarded comforter and the metal of a gun, carefully set aside by their heads next to an unlisted virtual badge. But even with the warmth, she hasn’t felt this cold in a long, long time, and she wants it to stop. “I’ve got you.”

Kara laughs a little, shaking her head as the deadly thud in an aching chest slowly gives way to something more familiar…but she selfishly doesn’t try to unravel herself from the contact as long as she has it, the faint fear in the back of her mind melting underneath the promise of an ever-warming sun (eventually) and Alex’s reassuring, sleep-filled drawl. She’s a little less cold, at least, like this, because even if she doesn’t admit it out loud, she thought she would never warm up after she woke up from that ice pit, at all. “You always do.”

Eventually Kara lets her go if just to shift closer to the sun, body as exhausted as her mind, but Alex’s arms don’t go far, even as her sister slumps back into the singular pillow that had valiant propped up both of their heads the night before, a lone soldier on the messy battlefield of mussed sheets.

Sheets Kara hasn’t really spent all that much time in, the past half-year. Maybe they’re not silk—not really much, at all—but they’re _hers_ and that’s more of a comfort than it should be.

“Someone has to.” A yawn breaks the words, dark eyes slitting underneath a mess of brown hair, unruly and rebellious, sticking up enough ways that Alex could make a valiant attempt at a punk rock album cover. “You didn’t sleep, you know. That was an hour. At most.” The grumble is accusatory—eyes softening around the edges even if her voice still chews gravel from her own exhaustion—and Kara feels that home-worn guilt well in her chest, “I thought I lost you, yesterday.”

“And leave you alone to have a minute of peace and quiet?” Kara brushes that punk rock hair out of tired eyes, catching sight of a clock out of the corner of her own. “That’d make me a pretty bad little sister.” 

**7:02 AM.**

Three minutes.

“So does backflipping off of a bridge—”

“Why does everyone keep saying that I  _backflipped_? Trust me, I was not in a backflipping mood. I don’t even think I  _could_  backflip—”

“Not without landing on your face.” Alex knowingly supplies. Okay, some things haven’t changed, at least, her sister isn’t  _that_ worried. “Which I guess you did. Yesterday. Land on your face.”

“Hey,” A waggle of an accusatory huff of her own, over-protective, “ _You’re_  the one that rushed off with no back-up to a totally not ominous abandoned warehouse to find Metallo on your o--”

“Because he almost killed you.” That jaw tightens and Kara softens, trying to make her point a little less antagonistically because, really, the antagonistic thing is Alex’s job. They’ve spent two years perfecting their good-cop, bad-cop routine, the fire of which has been tempered over Thanksgiving dinner. Admitting with a rough, shimmering smile:

“I almost lost you, too.”

“I know.” A restless, calloused hand pushes up through dark hair, tangled strands falling down like dominoes in waves around her ears and Kara scoots a little closer, “I saw you, you know. You almost crushed his—his heart, Kara. Whatever the hell that thing was, anyways. I don’t even know if he had a heart.”

There’s shame with the guilt, now, and suddenly Kara can’t look Alex in the eyes, at all.

Maybe it’s better that Cat didn’t give her anything to hold onto, this time, because it might snap underneath the weight of nails, soft sunlight painting a bed they’ve never shared. A bed her and Alex have shared over the worst times since she’s moved to National City—this is the same mattress she had in college, and Alex had shared it then, too, during the worst and best times—and idly Kara thinks Cat would think the springs would be too hard to sleep on, at all.

Cat would never know—because Kara would never tell her—that that’s why she’s kept it all these years. When Kara sleeps on it, she feels like she won’t float up into the sky.

Alex, Kara realizes, will be there even after Cat won’t—after this inevitably ends—and fingers tremble like a leaf from the effort it takes to keep from crushing her.

“He tried to kill you.”

“I know.” It’s quieter, barely audible, but Kara squeezes her hand, anyways, even as Alex lets her avoid her eyes in the dim light of a too-small apartment. Alex admits something neither of them probably should— “I would’ve crushed it.”

A pained smile shifts between them when Alex tugs Kara back against her chest, and an ear finds a slow heart, familiar. She could pick it up from a line-up. Athletic. Strong. Honest. There’s an undeniable skip to her sister’s heartbeat, and she’s certain she could listen to the entire city and found her, if she tried hard enough.

She’d tried hard enough to do just that, the day before. 

“Do you remember…after Jeremiah died?” Kara clears her throat and Alex’s arms wrap around her shoulders even as that strong heartbeat kicks up—even as an entire body stiffens—a hand apologetically patting her sister’s stomach for mentioning it, at all, “Well…apparently died. I’m sorry, Alex. We’ll find him. But…do you remember, we spent four months in that tiny little twin bed.”

“Because you wouldn’t let me out of your sight.” It’s a fond grunt, still full of sleep even as Kara hears her slowly waking—becoming a little more aware—Alex is always aware. Always ready. They both are, always ready for a siren, or an alien attack, and she misses the days when she used to feel Alex relax and reach up towards the stars with her like she might find her father there, too. Maybe that _is_ where Jeremiah’s been all this time, up in the stars. “I needed you, even if I was…bad at admitting it, then.”

“I know.” Kara hums, “You were hurting, Alex.  _Trust_  me…I know.”

Both of them look towards the muted hum of the city, the dim light coming through the windows, and Kara wonders how the crash is going, if the halls are lined with frantic coworkers desperately trying to avoid the wrath of Cat Grant. If Cat slept, at all.

If there was a crash, maybe Cat didn’t go home to Carter, at all.

What stories will they weave, today? 

“I wasn’t there for you like you were for me…after you landed.”

“You’ve always been there for me. You just…were kind of bad at showing it, at first.”

Alex snorts, both of them settling, and Kara’s thankful her sister’s here, at all—it’s likely the only reason either one of them got any sleep, period. An hour is probably better than none.

Probably.

“What’s going on with you, Kara?” Alex asks, fingers brushing through blonde locks and Kara leans into them, a breath quivering like fingers had. Like it might break her. Eventually, the air settles like that ice had in her chest, shaking a head and looking up into kind eyes with a thin-lipped smile.

“I’m just…growing up, Alex. I think I’m just growing up.”

“Oh, so…” And her sister tries—she sees it—sees her swallow down her questions in favor of smiling with a quirk of lips, “So  _you_ ** _know_** _we’re_  adults, now, right? So you can, like, buy a bigger bed. Like an adult. An adult bed. For tall people, which we both are. Kal-El has an entire fortress of solitude, I feel like you could compete a  _little_  better, Supergirl.”

Kara, too exhausted to think of a retort, just shoves her sister’s shoulder with an indignant noise, hopping up to tug the curtains open with a happy sigh the moment she feels sunshine.

A groan sounds from the bed at the sight of Kara’s beam the moment she whirls around.

“Aaand the look on your face says we’re definitely  _ **not**_  getting anymore sleep. Great.”

“We both have the day off,” The beam doesn’t falter, eyebrows raising, “And I had plenty of sleep—”

“Kara, you look like hell. You’re starting to _kind of_   look like Keith Richards’ balls in a bath level of hell--”

“Okay, that’s offensive and I don’t even know what that means and I don’t want,” Kara raises up both of her hands the moment Alex’s mouth opens, “To _know_ what that means. Come on,” She reaches over and tosses her sister a jacket, sucking in a sharp breath before she’s ready in a Flash.

Idly, she wonders how many times Barry makes that joke, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth as she points over to Alex’s gun.

“We both know  _you’re_  going to go into the DEO anyways and I…” She looks down before shrugging on a shirt, ignoring how naked she feels without armor underneath fabric, “Am going to CatCo.”

“Okay, first off, I’m just going to run tests on Mon-El, who is starting to get…really annoying, and that’s only going to be like…an hour. Tops.” Kara gives her sister a knowing look—they’re a family of workaholics, after all—and she slowly starts to rise from the bed, jabbing a finger towards what Kara can only hope is an innocent look, “I’m not enabling you.”

“Yes you are.” Kara pouts around her toothbrush, “That’s your job. Hey, remember when I helped you sneak out of the window to go to that party Senior year when you were  ** _totally_** grou—”

“And you milk it. You’ve milked it for  ** _so_** long—”

“And you told me,” Kara recalls over Alex’s grumbling look as she hops into boots, “We’re sisters. We cover each other, no matter what. That means I look after you even when you make really dumb decisions like sneaking out Senior year to meet Bobby Macin—”

“Okay, that’s a _really_ bad impression of me—”

“Uh, nope. Spot on.”

“And I didn’t even like Bobby Macinaw! Worst night of my life. You never should’ve let me do that. It was stupid—”

“Oh, hah—” Kara laughs, hands finding her hips, “ _Really_ stupid, but I did it anyways. Because sisters help sisters do stupid things, like sneak out to meet boys they don’t even like and fly over and pick them up and unhealthily obsess over their totally-not-dangerous jobs.”

Alex lets out a noise of a growl—a protest that makes Kara’s beam settle right back onto her features, because she knows she’s won. Unfortunately, she knows that she’s also only ever going to be able to milk to Bobby Macinaw story for probably a year more, tops. “Fine, whatever, we both know I’m going to go until J’onn tries to kick me out. But _you_ …don’t even have a job, anymore. CatCo will be fine without you. Why don’t you stay here, get some rest—”

“Of course CatCo will be fine.” A little quieter, to herself, “Cat will be fine,” She shakes her head, huffing out of her nose as she zips around to offer her sister her gun with a happy hum, “James, the news staff--everyone will be absolutely, perfectly fine without me. But they’re going to have a tough day and…there’s nothing wrong with bringing coffee, right? Seeing how the crash unfolds—this happens…well, never, Alex. This is big. And then maybe I could help you come train Mon-El and--”

“Nope. You’re missing the definition of resting.” Alex is leaning down to tug on her other boot, apparently not bothered in the least at the thought of shuffling out of here in the same clothes as the night before—the majority of which she slept in—standing before she yanks up the gun, tucking it safely by a hip with far more care.

“Fine, then I’ll…” A huff, but Kara knows Alex sees it when the innocent smile tucks up her lips—knows she gets that glint in her eyes, “I’ll do nothing.”

“Kara,” Alex’s sigh isn’t much of a warning, both of them exhausted and Kara just blinks when Alex tugs her against her chest, steel bending underneath the familiar touch to settle underneath a chin, smiling at the sound of that heartbeat. “Come get breakfast with me before you do…whatever it is that I don’t want to know you’re doing. Which you’re going to _call_ and tell me about. Whatever it is that you’re doing that I don’t want to know what you’re doing.”

“You had me at breakfast, Jerry MacGuire.” Kara beams, tucking her arm underneath Alex’s as she tugs her towards the door.

“All you can eat pancakes if you promise not to zip around in the suit until you’re fully healed.” Alex snaps the door shut before the can leave through it, holding up a hand in a shake, eyebrows raising. Kara takes the liberty of tugging her sister’s hair up into a ponytail to distract knowing eyes from the thoughtful look on her features. “Kara…”

“My own sister, trying to  _bribe_  me over listening to my own good, honest word—I mean, I’m a _superhero,_ Alex, can’t you trust--”

“About not saving people? About as far as I can throw you. Which is no where. Because you weigh about the same as Fort Rozz.”

“Hey!” It’s a weak protest.

“What? You do.”

“Fine, fine, okay, the bribe works. No _suit_ , and maybe I’ll even catch a cat-nap halfway through the day.” Kara snorts despite herself once her own words catch up with her, immediately clamoring to grab a jacket to avoid Alex’s slitting, curious eyes, clearing her throat as she guides her out of the apartment and onto the street fast enough that only someone who’s spent over a decade running after her could keep up with. The faint hint of red on her cheeks likely doesn’t help. “Or, like, a regular…person nap with sleeping. And no…anything but sleeping. There was no joke there. None at—okay, stop looking at me like that. Please. Come on, those pancakes won’t eat themselves.”

Kara is certain her body is happily comprised of around 92% (that was her doctor’s professional estimation post-breakfast) pancakes a few hours later, still exhausted and stiff but full as she finds herself somewhere that’s as peaceful as it gets, resting against a wall inbetween two glass windows, listening to the sounds of life fluttering on behind her. It’s familiar and hectic and Kara finds no small sense of comfort in it, thumb swiping along the edge of a phone as she watches the clouds cover the sun and uncover them again like an excitable toddler playing hide and seek.

Kara doesn’t have to wait long until heels sound next to her and a familiar power-suit comes striding to the edge of a balcony, shoulders tightening like some kind of journalistic sixth-sense has flared, immediately twisting around to take Kara in.

Kara, who just-as immediately raises her hands up in apology with a shake of her head, a cloud taking that time to slide over the bright sun, painting dark, tired eyes in flutters of light before shadows overtake them both.

“Just me. Sorry, I was just…”

The sun flares to life for a bright spatter, reflecting off the bent metal of a railing, before it fades away, again. Like a fair-weathered kaleidoscope, the only colors Kara sees the dancing twinkle of hazel eyes.

“Lounging on my personal balcony like a stalker?” Cat supplies, but her spine eases into something familiar as heels click, closing the distance between them as she saunters in front of the curled, hidden form of her ex-assistant. Even with her shorter stature, Cat does a good job of blocking a good bit of the sunlight left in the sky and a shiver thoughtlessly runs up Kara’s spine as she adjusts glasses, a faint laugh on the edge of her lips.

“Um…no? Not…stalker. Stalker is a very bad word for this.” The laugh rumbles a little louder, glasses catching a glint of sun before it’s gone behind those clouds, completely, “I was just,” A finger wags helplessly up towards the sky like that explains anything which, likely for Cat, it doesn’t, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s the tallest building in National City. And it lets me stay a little closer to listen out for you which… _might_  be a  _little_ ,” She pinches the air with her fingers, sheepish, “Okay, I don’t like ‘stalkerish’. What’s a nice word for loving or…chivalrous and not just going back to agreeing with stalkerish.”

“Oh, but a  _little_ stalkerish is perfectly justifiable.” Cat waves a wrist before that same hand gently smooths up the lapel of a shirt, eyes squinting, “I built a career on being a little stalkerish. But you’re right, ‘stalkerish’ is a little…Wynona-headline. I justlike to call it journalistic savvy.”

Kara laughs and Cat looks pleased despite the circles lining her own eyes—more expertly hidden with makeup than they had been at 5 in the morning—and long, warm fingers catch a strong hand before they can adjust glasses, again.

Long, warm fingers which gently slide the frames down off and Kara blinks, adjusting, her body sagging the rest of the way against the wall, a breath catching her nose, settling between them in this moment. This moment where the world swirls in color and outlines and information—where the sun eclipses behind clouds and the world blooms to life before lips are pressed against her own, quiet and gentle and…and like a hello Kara hadn’t even known she needed.

Was scared she wouldn’t receive and doesn’t even know why.

And the world fades into something that feels just like this when Kara’s eyes close, the faintest outline of Catherine’s smile visible through her lids like a constant presence, not something stolen and voyeuristic. Her shoulders settle against the wall as that small, strong body leans up into her and Kara can’t help the smallest smile against warmth in retort.

“Hi.” It’s hummed, pecking Cat’s lips, again, nose barely wrinkling as a finger dances an almost loving nail down her nose.

“Hi.”

Both of their eyelashes flutter open and Kara decides it’s better to see Catherine’s smile than just feel it.

“So…it sounds like the crash is going well.”

“Hardly.” The tension is back in those shoulders, again, if a shadow of what it was moments before, “I’ve seen better news come out of the bathroom of a Wendy’s in Texas.”

“Okay, so that means it’s going  _not_  well and…that was an oddly specific reference.” Brows knit, shaking a head before fingers curve along the line of the ones holding her glasses, curling Cat protectively around them as she holds her. “So you’ll fix it.”

“You should be in there, not out here.” The tension seems to have worked its way into Cat’s curling tongue and Kara’s brows only knit deeper, the crease forming between brows slowly rivaling the Grand Canyon.

“I’m…not allowed inside under any professional capacity, Ms. Grant. You know me…total rules girl.”  

“Oh, please,” Cat gives her a surprisingly cutting, if knowing, look, “When has that ever stopped you before? When has that stopped any of us? There’s a building of people behind you that love shoving their noses where they don’t belong. You’re one of them. That, along with a little bit of that aforementioned stalking, has been the backbone of journalism since long before Steve Coll started writing exposes on the SEC--long before Paul Shoenstein started sticking his nose in the Vatican’s dirty drawers and pulling penicillin out of the walls. That undeniable frothing at the mouth for that story—that truth—don’t tell me you’re just here because of me.”

“I’m…mostly here because of you.” Kara admits, sagging a little more against the wall, tugging Cat closer because even if she can’t feel that sunshine, there’s an undeniable warmth in those hips. In that breath and that smile. “It sounds less romantic if I admit I couldn’t help but wondering all morning, though. How it was going here.”

“Of course you couldn’t.” Cat says like it’s no surprise, at all, sliding glasses back up Kara’s nose like they might belong there—at least at CatCo—a hum on her lips, “There’s still a choice for you to make, after all.”

But there’s such a soft smile on Cat’s lips that Kara is too stunned by it to suggest anything different, at all, reaching out when she turns away.

“You…” Kara clears her throat, shifting on the balcony, changing the subject—a little bolder with her lips so warm, “You forgot to give me something. This morning.”

“I...did,” Cat breathes, slowly turning around to face her, something indistinguishable in her eyes as the realization settles and Kara’s selfishly glad that it apparently wasn’t intentional, “Didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” She shifts again--adjusts the glasses back on her nose as she brings Catherine a little closer, their bodies slotting together against the wall. And there’s that gaze, again, like Cat can see straight through her, a hand falling down to untuck the edge of a hastily-tucked in shirt, blinking at what she finds. “Yep, just me.” Kara gently curves fingers around Cat’s hand and slides it further up underneath the bunched fabric, a shiver down her spine (decidedly not from the cold, this time) as fingers splay knowingly, if surprisingly hesitant, against bare skin.

“No suit.” Cat breathes it, eyes searching, nails skimming over to an abdomen before dancing up a side and settling, intimately, along a hip, fingers brushing underneath the hem of pants.

“No suit.” Teeth tug at a lower lip. “I’ve...been benched. For a little while.”

“Benched? And here I thought you were just honoring that unspoken little agreement between us.”

“I would have still come here first to talk to you, if I wasn’t. Benched, I mean.” Kara offers, sincere, and Catherine’s features soften just enough for her to imagine there isn’t a building full of people behind them, at all. It’s easier when they’re tucked away like this.

“If you’re benched…” Cat reaches up to her neck and doesn’t seem to find anything there—no earrings, either--hesitating before she unclips the same bracelet from the night before, carefully sliding it around Kara’s wrist with a caught breath. Something attentive eyes can see visibly swell her lover’s chest—catch along the rising swell of her throat—and without a second thought, Kara tugs Catherine back against her, reveling in the feeling of hands clenching in the fabric of her shirt. “Who did my helicopter see flying around National City, this morning.”

Kara shrugs, murmuring, “Supergirl.” Because it’s _true enough_ before she kisses her.

And amazingly enough, Catherine kisses her back, pressing her up against this small sliver of a wall that no one could see, without breaking through the glass of an office. A finger skims underneath the healing line underneath Kara’s brow when she pulls away, barely detectable save for the silver edges diving underneath the hair rebelliously escaping its prison of a ponytail.

“Imagine that.” Catherine hums, lingering for just a breath longer before she straightens her blouse, heels clicking as she strides back into the office she came from, leaving the door open.

Kara smiles, the sound of the office a little louder and she realizes, now, just how tired she must be, because Catherine’s heartbeat disappears into the mess of it and she wouldn’t be able to pick it out, if she tried.

Or, maybe, some of Cat’s heart will always sound like this—like this mess of jumbled stories coming together, the sound of furious computer clicks and screaming bi-lines and endless possibilities of truth—even if the part Kara’s more familiar with, these days, is softer and quiet and muted.

But, maybe…part of Kara’s heart sounds like this, too.

With a quiet, happy hum, adjusting glasses and following behind her, dutifully closing the door in her wake, Kara stands in front of the mayhem with hands on her hips, breathing in the faint scent of paper and ink and chaos.

The news is a constant, breathing life and Kara wonders, with more excitement than she expected this morning, whose story they’ll tell, today.

“Imagine that.”

\--

**3:48 AM**

Kara sets down her phone, sucks in a sharp tug of air, and blows it into the scattered pages along the floor until they’re all pressed up, unmoving, against the wall before disappearing in a whirlwind, herself, re-arranging them into the order they were in save for two that appear in front of Cat Grant’s knowing eyes a moment later, a thin-lipped smile above her.

Another whirlwind tapes all of the pages up.

“Never use your powers at work? I knew that was a bald-faced—"

“I’m not working.”

But Catherine’s eyes haven’t moved from the two possible headlines.

“Publicizing the fact that there’s a way to kill you won’t do you any favors.” Cat hums, but her glasses are back on her nose as she looks over the pre-prints.  

“It won’t do my cousin any favors.” Kara quietly agrees. “But, trust me, if there’s one thing he understands, it’s a story.”

“Spinning the narrative that you’re not indomitable might strike fear into the city, but it might also remind us that you’re not, in fact, Gods. You’re mortals. And I can’t forsake this--” She flicks the edge of the page knowingly, “This is a Pulitzer photo, Kara.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Kara slides up behind her, taking in the photo she’d spent the better part of an hour looking at. She should have protected Kal-El from that. “When my mother put me on that pod, I was...just a girl. I’ve always been...intimately aware that I’m mortal, Catherine. I watched everyone I knew and loved die in front of my eyes. A burden I’m not sure I’d ever want Kal-El to have, and I’m glad to bear it for him.” A hint of a small laugh on the edge of her teeth that falls flat when she looks down at her palms. But when her spine rolls backwards, she stands taller than she ever should in this building, chin barely dipping upwards even as she sucks in a small breath, finger tracing along the line of a warm jaw—her cousin’s.

Jor-El’s jaw.

“I was sent to be my cousin’s protector, but we became the protectors of Earth, instead. We won’t be here, forever. Either one of us, Cat. We were never Gods--the opposite—I don’t…people shouldn’t think we’re _Gods_. Rao. We’re just...two very, very lonely people trying to make up for being the only ones that survived.” It sounds so dark, so desperate, and she’s worried Catherine will see the truth in it, like she does everything else, so she tries, instead, to temper it with more of the truth: “Trying to keep anyone from feeling what we feel every morning we wake up--every time the sun sets on a planet that hasn’t existed, not really, since long before any of us were born.”

“I don’t see your point in how--”

Kara’s chin falls to rest on her lover’s shoulder, arm wrapping around a waist as she pulls her back, hand curling over Cat’s fingers, tightening the other woman’s grip on the picture in her hands before she can think of setting it aside.

“My sister goes out there every morning fully aware she might die and she does it every day. Cops--soldiers--even doctors in DMZ’s, so many people go out every day with the knowledge that  _anything_ could kill them, and do their best to help their communities, their planet, anyways. Yes, my cousin and I are much, much larger targets than my sister--” Kara quietly agrees, “But it doesn’t change the sacrifice they make. It doesn’t lessen my cousin’s. All of us are called to something greater just like  _you_ are, Catherine, and we have targets on our backs because of it. People need to  _know_ we’re not Gods, that my cousin and I have almost died countless times because this planet--our  _people_ \--are worth it to us, and that our sacrifice isn’t something frightening...just like how my parent’s sacrifice wasn’t frightening. They gave their life so that I might live and someday, I’ll give my life so that someone here might. That’s not fear. That’s hope. And you,” Kara drops her arm in favor of slowly buttoning up her shirt, still getting used to the feeling of cloth on skin where a suit should be. But the action doesn’t pull her from Cat’s side for a moment, chin still slotted over her shoulder, lips brushing over a jaw, “Know that. That’s why you were going to re-arrange these right before I came in here. That politician was never going to be front page.”

“You think you know me so well.” Cat hums, turning around to bat Kara’s hands away, slowly sliding buttons in loops for her.

“Don’t I?” Kara smiles, soft and quiet, watching the way a smile tugs up the corners of her lover’s thin lips.

“ _You’re_ not very fun at parties, are you, constantly talking about the inevitability of sacrificing yourself for the greater good. It’s a mood-killer, Kara. Really.”

Kara lets out a hum of acknowledgment as her thumb gently tucks up Cat’s chin so that she can meet those eyes in the dim light of a building they’ve spent far too much time in, tonight, a quiet smile sure to greet her.

And a beautiful, quiet smile does.

“I’d much rather focus on living in the present. On how easy it is to imagine disrupting every possible cover I can, just like this.” She teases, “I was terrified, yesterday, but I  _fight_ for my future. For yours. For this planet’s. Sacrifice doesn’t make me weak, Catherine--the possibility of it reminds me to focus on what matters to me. And whether or not you didn’t want me to say  _what_ , yesterday, I--” And when her mouth opens, again, to tell Catherine just what that is, a hand raises up from buttons to stem the words, a smile instead of words brushing along those warm digits.

Because Kara laughs and kisses Cat’s fingers, instead.

“So you intentionally ambushed my cover, then?” Eyebrows raise even when arms lower to wrap around a waist, slipping underneath the hem at a hip to run fingers along skin instead of a suit, “Are you certain Clark Kent isn’t trying to poach you to the  _Planet_?”

“Even if he was, I’m as loyal as they come. Maybe he thinks me living on his couch in Metropolis would be fun,” She shrugs, only catching the curious look on Cat’s face out of the corner of her eye before moving forward, “But someone keeps reminding me that I have the world at my feet right here. And that’s an opportunity I do not plan on squandering, Ms. Grant.”

“Wisely not. So you’re  _still,_ ” There’s a look full of intent there, “Considering my proposal.”

“I haven’t really been thinking about anything else in-between getting my head slammed through cement walls. Well, and listening to Milo let out a very impressive string of curses the moment he realized today was a crash.” Kara sighs and she imagines it--just for a moment--sitting next to Clark and Lois by their desks, fingers tapping along it with a pen. “Everywhere I go...people love Superman, you know. I’m so proud of his success, of how he’s grown, but sometimes--” She pulls away, bending down to snag up the clip that had rattled onto the floor, slowly starting to gather together her hair and force it upwards. Her hair, after all, is the one part of her that doesn’t naturally defy gravity. “Sometimes I wonder if I would make this choice to be close to him, or if I’m still in his shadow, or if--” She shakes her head, clip snipping as she drags it all upwards. “This is another thing I can’t protect Kal-El from.”

“Well, you can’t just keep wandering these halls aimlessly like the Headless Horseman, Kara. The crash was one thing.” Cat hums, watching as Kara shoots forward, gathering back the pages from the wall and settling them in their proper alignment on the table, nodding downwards when everything is as it should be.

It takes her literally a minute of shuffling to get it over to print.

Somehow, that feels a little anti-climactic after an entire day’s worth of work.

“Oh, but I can give it a good old college try, righ--oh, okay, you’re not smiling, anymore.” Kara sighs, hopping up onto James’ desk, popping open the drawer he keeps his (not-so) secret stash of candy bars. If he had wanted her to keep out of it, obviously he should have encased it in lead. “I know.”

It’s not stealing if she replaces them.

Probably.

It’s probably not stealing.

She tugs out a bag of M&M’s and tosses them towards Cat with a smile, a hint of a laugh rumbling on lips when a perfectly-manicured hand catches them, Kara tugging her up onto the desk next to her—and it’s a testament, really, that Kara isn’t surprised that she lets her—looking towards tomorrow’s issue with a proud sigh.

Just as Kara had tugged Cat closer the day she received an office, she wants to be here for this, too.

For Cat.

“It’s been a while since I got to watch everyone crash the cover.”

“Ah,” Catherine hums, teeth crunching a candy shell, “Right.” A wave of fingers as she holds a small little orb of ill-lit yellow, “You weren’t here for the last one. Something about a spaceship being embedded in your head.”

“Right.” Kara slowly unwraps the candy bar with more reverence than she had tugging off Catherine’s dress a few minutes prior. But, then again, as empty as the building is, if curious eyes had happened to look, no one would give her a sideways look for sensually unwrapping a candy bar.

That’s just a Thursday.

Unwrapping their CEO on the other hand…

Well, no one in the office knows that that is _also_ kind of a beautiful, wonderful Thursday for Kara Danvers, too.

\--

**12:03 PM.**

“Someone spin this. I'm not talking half hearted Betty Davis on a bicycle, we need a full  _Exorcist_  three-hundred and sixty.” Cat snaps, waving towards the screen. Miraculously, only a few strings have picked up the Supergirl story and they’d managed to get the jump on it this morning with the newscycle. But the print was where the real test lay. “Now.”

“Puppy dogs with the president?” James tries. “Positive light. We don’t want a fluff piece, but they both lived, they kept fighting. Something hopeful for the city--”

“What are you, a Disney Princess?” Snapper gruffs from the corner and Cat pinches the bridge of her nose.

“While your muscles are far too ripply to look like Divine in a dashing ballgown, James, I’m with Snapper. Thomas Kincaid couldn’t paint this in a positive light.” Cat’s sigh is eternal, eyes flicking over towards Snapper. “I don't want the city running every suicide jumper they see, especially not with the holidays coming up a few short months away, but we can't down play this. Next.”

Snapper sighs, arms crossing over his chest, one wayward hand scratching underneath his chin like the Godfather of bilines at a perpetual five-o’-clock shadow before offering: “Doom and gloom treatment. Everyone loves an underdog, or a flying super Jesus. She tried to sacrifice herself for those people. Best of both worlds?”

“No, no, we don't want that  _Superfall_ take two, people will start to think,” Cat's voice closes on a hard  _k_ and Kara avoids her gaze, glad that she doesn’t actually  _mention_ the name  _Fort Rozz_ to a room-full of journalists, “She has a death wish.”

“Doesn't she?” Snapper shrugs, like this is a commonplace thing for everyone to have.

“No.” Both James (adamant) and Kara (quiet) supply, to two sets of unimpressed eyebrows raising.

“What's the puppy dog doing in here?” Snapper asks like he's only just now noticed her--Kara isn't sure if he notices everything or perpetually notices nothing unless it suits him--and her lips nervously tug upwards. “When did—”

“I'd like to think I'm at least a...full grown dog. Actually.” She shuffles her glasses. A hint of a laugh, “Potty trained and...everything.”

James smiles but neither Cat or Snapper look particularly impressed, an elegant wrist waving in front of a whiteboard before gruff lips can open and comment.

“Save it for your therapy sessions, not the workplace, Clifford. Moving on.” She caps her pen, tapping it against the board, “No, no...we need a heroic, realistic spin.” Her shoulders barely tense before they sag downwards in something close to resigned. Something that Kara knows she's the only person who sees and, from the faintest dip of a chin towards her direction, though their eyes don't meet, Kara knows she's right. “Supergirl almost died. That's clear. There's no point hiding that from the public, Lois Lane won't.”

Lois Lane actually hasn’t stopped texting her all day, but that’s not a fact she needs to share, nodding as Cat continues.

“So we keep the cover and keep the mid focused on how she  _didn't._ She triumphed, just like the people of National City will. Some...cliché quote about a bright light that would make  _Nixon_  cry. Some touched mother explaining how the action saved her children in the car. Some fisherman on the beach who didn't understand the gravity of what he saw. All tied in a neat little bow of a weaved narrative about how humanity will push that little murky lake water out of its lungs and continue to fight another day when adversity throws us into the depths.”

“Quotable.” James hums.

“Honest.” Snapper agrees.

“Relatable.” Kara murmurs, tucking her notebook against her lap, gaze searching shoulders like they might hold the map to a holy grail.

“Yes, I am  _quite_  the genius aren't I? So I understand staring at me slack-jawed and in awe, but the news will not write itself. So let’s  _go_ , people!”

Two seconds pass before Snapper jumps back into action, twisting around with a clap and rallying the troops with harsh, precise orders so that Cat doesn't have to, although her yell did enough to make them scurry, anyways. Eventually he turns to Kara with a pointed thumb, last three in the office, lips parting before Cat hums:

“Clifford will stay as my awkward, uncomfortable, perpetual shadow today, Snapper. That's all. Get to work.”

His lips close, eyes barely slitting, thumbing down glasses thinner than Cat's before he seems to decide he has better things to do with his time, stomping out of the office with intention littering every step.

If she didn’t know for a fact that Napoleon was historically not actually short, she might think Snapper Carr was the reincarnation of Napoleon.

A really angry, very intimidating, brilliant, Jewish Napoleon.

Once Kara listens to them all retreat, she holds up a hand to Eve, who pokes her head into the office before standing with a faint shake of the head.

Ice rattles in a glass as Kara slides behind her boss, offering up whiskey to fingers that immediately snatch it up.

A weathered, strained sigh.

“Thanks,” A twitch of lips, “Clifford.”

“What can I say…” Kara sighs, chin dipping back as she shifts on a heel, hands pushing into pockets when she smiles, “Well, I guess if I’m a dog, which is a recurring theme, isn’t it? All I can say is, um…” Lips purse, settling with a nod: “Woof? Ms. Grant.”

The laugh—a faint chuckle rumbling along rim of a glass, reflecting white teeth and an easy smile--makes it worth it. When Kara turns around to see Eve smiling, something soft and surprised as she leans against the doorway, Eve catches her eyes and she offers an exuberant thumbs up, waving between the two of them with a wink that makes Kara shuffle her glasses and shrug to a curious look from Cat at the gesture.

Cat, who looks over her shoulder just in time to see Eve scrambling away and sighs into her drink.

“You’re hopeless. I do  _not_ want to know. Go…do something. Be professional without being here. Shoo.”

Kara just shrugs again before following after the current assistant.

“Woof?”

She really should sleep.

When Cat looks like she might throw the glass, she shuffles away just a little bit faster, glad to catch the faintest tail-end of a smile on her lover’s lips out of the corner of her eyes when she does.

\--

**3:58 AM.**

“Funnily enough, all day, that  _Supergirl_ was just fluttering about, today. Minor things, until around lunch, she was upstate when a mysterious force put out a fire a few blocks from here. Curious. No one happened to see who it was.”

Even nearing 4 AM, Catherine Grant is ever the reporter and Kara leans into her shoulder, humming around a mouthful of...oh, it’s Twix. She could’ve sworn she grabbed a Snickers. So she leans back to rifle through the desk until she can grab one of those, too, thumb running along the bracelet about a wrist, idle and content.  

“Oh, no,” Kara hums, taking another bite, listening to make sure there’s no stragglers, smiling a little sheepishly up at raised eyebrows. “That one was me.”

“ _During_ lunch. Where you were sitting right next to me with that burger grease trap and--”

“And you happened to get up to yell at Snapper…”

It takes a moment because Cat’s yelled at Snapper for the majority of the day, but the moment realization passes, memory found, Kara offers a sheepish smile.

“For all of  _thirty seconds_ before he slumped out of my office like Eeyore.”

“Two minutes and seventeen seconds, actually. It doesn’t take long to put out a few fires. And…maybe stop one petty theft.” She raises her hands, candy bar waving in pointed defense, “Which was on the way back!”  

A long-winded, almost indulgent sigh is her response, but there’s a hint of that ever-present journalistic fire in familiar eyes.

“I assume your nameless, alphabet letter soup employer wasn’t too happy?” Cat pops in another M&M, leaning in a little closer to Kara’s shoulder.

“Oh, they didn’t care. Probably. I heard Supergirl was busy elsewhere punching very important, very tall things. I got a voicemail from my doctor threatening not to buy me any more bagels if I didn’t go home and sleep, though. But she said no suit, and--” Kara points down at her recently-buttoned outfit, “No suit.”

“You should, Kara. Sleep, obviously.” Fingers gently wrap around a wrist, holding the metal of a bracelet against skin--a thumb dips along a pulse--adding with a hint of a smile that curls up words more than it does lips, “Not that I’m worried.”

“Oh, of course not. Nothing to worry about.” Another hum--a happy sigh, looking down, “It was...nice, though. Watching all of this,” She waves towards the board--what was chaos over the past few hours, re-named articles and stress and fury now a composed stack of perfection--tipping back her chin, “It felt like...magic. Really stressful, really important magic.”

“It feels like _home_ , doesn’t it? Like you belong in the thick of the action.” There’s a wistful hum, there--something that makes Kara’s head fall down to her shoulder, “Oh, I know, because I recognize that youthful little gaze in pictures of myself when I was younger. That twinkle in the eye that comes from a well-fought battle in the trenches. You know better than anyone how...disillusioned I’ve become, but being on the ground floor...it always has a certain life to it, doesn’t it? It  _is_ very stressful, very  _important_...truth. Not magic. Hard-work, perseverance, and dedication. And it’s where,” Cat pats her wrist, hopping off the desk with so much grace Kara’s certain Cat Grant might be an Olympic gymnast, stepping back into her heels. “You belong, whenever you decide to tug your head out of those clouds of yours and join us... _Ms. Danvers_.”   

Kara hums, again, smiling at the words, a little distracted, but is snapped right back to reality when fingers tuck up a chin and Catherine gently--so gently--pecks her lips in parting.

Where her Snickers had sat, unopened, there’s now a separate bracelet—making up for lost time?—and Kara smiles as she listens to heels as they slowly click along the hall. Those heels stop outside the elevators, undoubtedly intent upon calling a car, given the fact that she’d sent Eve home before making her way up here, at all.

That? It’s definitely stealing.

Kara doesn’t mind it one bit, happily popping the last of her Twix into her mouth with a mental note to fill back of James’ drawer with all of his favorites.

Blue flickers towards the other desk that they just, well—mostly defiled. Oh, wow, really defiled. She doesn’t leave until it’s clean—spotless—and then clears her throat at the door, unable to help the small smile on her lips.

Maybe she should get him a fruit basket, too.

A fruitbasket made of protein bars and a separate, larger fruit basket made of candy bars.

She catches up to Catherine by the bottom of the elevator (after her nightly sweep of the security footage and making sure a car is out front) whispering a quick press of lips by her brow, air fluttering through blonde locks and the faintest hint of a smile spreading, soft and gentle, on a lover’s lips before Kara disappears down the street and across the city. The street she inevitably finds herself on might be across Cat’s apartment and she  _might_ wait until Cat settles Carter, and then moves down the hall, slowly settling into bed, herself.

There’s a book but Cat doesn’t last long, light left glaring through the room and Kara sighs, teeth fussing a lip before she’s suddenly there before she can re-think it, hesitating for only a moment before testing the window, a sigh of relief fogging glass when she finds it cracked.

Cat always leaves it cracked open, these days. Just for her. Just in case, Kara knows. This shouldn’t be a just-in-case moment, really—it’s…unspoken and reserved for after crime-fighting and tough nights and this is more of that whole…little bit of stalking thing, from earlier—but she pushes it open, anyways.

Because she hadn't said goodbye. And that feels worse, somehow, than not having a bracelet on her wrist.

A flick of the light and Kara makes sure to curl the blanket up and around slim shoulders, sure to be gentle—quiet—smiling in the darkness when Catherine’s fingers curve around her wrists, stilling her.

“Hmm…should I be worried that you’re starting to turn very  _Single White Female_ , Kara?” Cat’s voice is laced with sleep, humming, and Kara laughs, leaning down to brush the hair out of eyes with the one arm she frees.

“Well, I’m really not sure of the term for it, but I’m not really single. Two out of three isn’t that bad, though, so even though  _I_ would say don't be worried, the signs are starting to show—but, wow, you are  _really_  on top of it with the references when you first wake up, aren’t you?” Kara sits down on the edge of the bed, next to a hip, feeling the soft mattress dip underneath her weight. There’s no way Cat would ever sleep in her bed. “Impressive.” A hint of a spreading smile.

"Always be ready." Cat's smile sleepily matches. 

“I’m sorry. For the stalking. I just…I just wanted to make sure you got home alright and I saw the light was on and I just—”

Cat squeezes her wrist, “Thank you. I’m fine.” And then those fingers guide her down, lips brushing, a sleepy hum lost between them, “Is there a reason you’re  _still_ not sleeping?” A shrug isn’t much of a response, Kara knows, and Cat blinks, shifting further up as her own vision must adjust, “Still no suit.”

“I sold my heroism for a stack of pancakes, this morning.” Kara grouses, “Alex made me promise no suit, remember? So…no suit. Well,” A thoughtful hum in retrospect, “I guess I didn’t tell you about the pancakes part.” 

“You weren’t wearing a suit _at all_ when you flew in here? When you dipped out for your little hero lunch?” Cat’s shifting further up, now, any hint of joking gone, “Aren’t you worried about—”

“No.” Kara answers simply—quietly, “Trust me, Catherine, if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to…blend in. How to not be seen or noticed.”

Catherine sucks in a sharp breath, reaching up to a glasses-less face, probably taking in the sight of Kara with her hair tucked up and yesterday’s clothes without them. But it’s impossible not to lean into the hand that skims along the tired muscles of a cheek, eyes flicking over to the bed for a moment—a longing, aching moment—before sucking in a breath and standing.

“Kara—” Catherine calls when she makes it back to the window and she pauses, looking over her shoulder. She watches Catherine in the bright moonlight, those warm hands curling into sheets in a too-large bed, an unread book by her hip as lips that could part the heavens if they wanted to part for some other reason, entirely. And Kara—stupidly; maybe even selfishly in a way she’s horrendously learning how to be—wants nothing more than for Catherine to ask her to stay. To crawl into bed and…stay. “…Go home. Get some sleep.”

A tense nod, lips thin as they spread in an understanding smile before she slides back open a window, hesitating when the wind starts to dance through her hair. A wayward, rebellion strand flicks about in front of her face like a restless flame, and she half-heartedly shoves it behind an ear. "I...didn't say goodbye, yesterday. I, um--I know it's...it's a little ridiculous," A hint of a laugh, "And I can't sleep, and I was standing up there, and I realized I didn't say goodbye. I don’t know why I didn’t just…say anything, or why I still haven’t--"

Catherine's body slides up behind her, warmth settling so easy and familiar against her back and Kara feels a world of tension she hadn't even realized she was holding since she woke up from a nightmare she hasn't entirely been able to shake flood from parting lips. She hadn’t even heard Catherine move—how tired must she truly be? How out of it?—and eyes close as a dusty, aching swallow bobs her throat. Her jaw barely quivers and her forehead rests against the cool pane of a half-opened window, heart pounding against the fabric of a regular shirt, no sigil resting over a quivering drum, and Catherine's lips brush over her jaw. And Catherine’s arms snake around her waist. And Catherine’s fingers are so warm against her hips that Kara thinks--for a breath--that she might have never been cold, at all. 

"Are…we okay?" Kara's voice sounds like a plane that's lost its engine, rumbling and quaking and unsteady and doesn't know why she asks because she's not even sure she wants to know. But she feels Catherine's smile quiver at the edges of her jaw and leans further back into her arms, a slow nod the answer settling between them. But Cat doesn't leave much up for imagination, a firm believer in absolutes, Kara knows: 

"Of course we're okay, Kara." It’s murmured, however strong, in a swallow so close to her ear that, even exhausted, Kara hears it, and she's certain that those thin arms--pilates sculpted, Cat is very proud of this fact--are the strongest in the world, in this moment, holding up a girl that doesn't feel much like a hero underneath the moonlight. "Kara," Lips brush over a cheek--a jaw--an ear--and she's close enough that she can hear the trepidation in it, the rare, consuming quake of Cat's voice. And this— _this_ —oh, Rao, she loves _this, too._ "We're okay." 

Kara squeezes her arms and allows herself another moment to breathe--to rest against Catherine and that faint smell of ink and perfume and  _M &M's _on her breath, mixing with wine and whiskey and sleep--before she untangles herself, because otherwise she won't know how to leave, at all. "We're doing the right thing." Kara reminds them both, but her heart doesn't sound quite in it.

"We are. And as much as I hate you for it…" That smile fades, but the lips remain, “You did the right thing yesterday, too.”

And Catherine's done many things for her in the past few seconds, alone, but asking Kara Danvers to stay isn't one of them, so in a breath, Kara appears in front of her, instead, across a threshold of glass and open air, floating for only a moment in front of her window, hair tugged back and clothes barely rustled by the wind. 

"Goodnight, Catherine." The smile doesn't quite meet her eyes and, at least, neither does Catherine's as she raises up a singular hand in gesture, one of the bracelets—the one that was almost crushed—left in her palm, catching the moonlight in its bends and twists.

"Goodnight.” A shaking breath that Kara can _hear_ , now, no matter how straight Catherine’s shoulders spread, the smile a little more genuine as she murmurs, “ _Mon oisillon._ " 

Kara disappears for the second time to the faintest sound of a window shutting tight.

Her home is empty and large and Kara tries sleeping for all of an hour, body beyond exhausted as she tosses in the sheets—the sound of siren in the back of her mind and that picture of Kal-El holding her, the look of pure  _fear_ in her eyes when she fell—when there’s a pointed knock at the door. 

A slow smile spreads across her features the moment she stands and spots slumped shoulders through the familiar wood, tugging it open to a second pillow being thrown into her face, barely catching it as a tall mass of _grumbles_ shoves her way past a willingly-bending form into the apartment, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.

“Shut up, I’m still mad at you,” Alex yells over her shoulder as she pops in a movie, Kara sleepily following after her, catching the DVD case her sister throws her way. “But  _I_  can’t sleep either. So…”

The screen flickers and blue owlishly blink down at the cover.

“ _Funny Face_?” Kara practically beams, hopping after her sister, the beam only spreading when she sees the open container and groans, excitement exponentially growing, “And a whole tub of ice cream for myself,  _no way_ —”

“Ahhh—” Alex’s hand snaps up to cover her entire face, getting a bite in. “Half! Half, Kara, hal—”

“You’re the best,” Kara snatches it up and laughs when Alex tries to wrestle it away from her.

“God, I’m getting you a Kryptonite spoon.” Alex yells, crawling on top of her, boot settled on Kara’s chest as the Kryptonian just plucks her sister away, popping in another mouthful before handing the tub over to a very sour-looking agent.

“Too bad all of it’s probably in space, now.”

“So not buying you any more bagels.”

Halfway through the night, Alex slumps down onto her in a very dignified grunt (that Kara somehow resists the urge taping), fingers brushing through her sister’s hair, and she feels warm, and safe…

And looks back up to a picture of a smiling, nervous Audrey Hepburn with a falling smile of her own. She brushes lips over her sister’s temple when the older of the two (Earth-wise, anyways) lets out a sleepy grunt when Kara shifts to shut off the end of the movie, seizing the opportunity to turn on  _Xanadu_  (she can get away with it with Alex asleep, at least), instead. Fingers run along the faint line of an un-bent bracelet while she settles in with a melting tub of ice cream for another long, hero-less night.

But it’s not so bad, really.

Alex snores and Kara settles further into the couch, one arm wrapped around a tub and the other protectively wrapped around her sister, eyes lingering on the window for a long moment before turning back towards the television.

She has no clue what time it is, anymore--no clue how long it's been since she slept—no clue how long it will be until Cat brushes past Eve on her way to a desk at exactly 7:05 AM—

Goodnights are feeling just as important as goodmornings.

"Goodnight, Alex." She murmurs into dark hair, feeling a little better for it, a much louder, much less flattering snore her sister's response. (That one, if her phone wasn't across the room, Kara would tape in a heartbeat). Half an hour later, she offers: "Hey, maybe I should just go into the muse business? Rollerblade around." A near-empty bucket of ice cream gestures towards the screen. "Have a nice Don Bluth animated sequence of me inspiring someone as a fish from kind of out of nowhere? Or just an animated  _Supergirl_  short. That'd be pretty cool." 

"Whatever." Alex grunts and shifts into her, grumbling, because no amount of sleep can stem off a good tease, an agent just as ready as a sister: "Can't pull off...Olivia's hair." That's about the last bit of consciousness before she falls asleep again and Kara sighs, pursing lips towards the screen.

"Kicks to my ego just keep on coming." A beat, quietly agreeing as the lights flicker across her face, exhausted body not sleeping but...resting. Resting, here, safe and sound with her sleeping sister, watching Olivia Newton John twirl around like she was made for it. No matter how many times Alex insists this is the worst movie on Earth, she loves it, anyways. Inevitably coming to a far more important conclusion than her job or her love life or the fate of Earth: "Yeah, okay, definitely couldn't pull off the hair."

Alex grunts in acknowledgment.

“I bet I could pull off the 50’s curls look, though? Maybe. I don’t know.”

Another grunt, followed by a very sleepy:

“Yeah. Grace Kelly. Now, shut up.” And an even sleepier, softer--“Love you.”

Before Alex Danvers once more snores into a shoulder.

Kara just smiles.

" _Ukiem kh ap Je._" 

Not so bad, at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's that Warren Ellis quote that Kara might tut her chin up at, glowering at a ceiling in the bleary afternoon hours of listening to Snapper verbally glower his way through another meeting:
>
>> _"You're miserable, edgy, and tired. You're in the perfect mood for journalism."_ \- Warren Ellis. 
> 
> Things aren't always so easy in life, friends. Things aren't always so easy. Mid-life Kryptonian Crisis. But like...thankfully not in a Final Crisis kind of way.
> 
> Probably.
> 
> \--  
> **Kryptonian Translations**; [Source](http://kryptonian.info/doyle/dictionary.html)
> 
> * **ukiem** : Familial love. **Noun** P: [u.kjem]; K: ukÉm  
>     
> * **kh ap**: I. (Me) Feminine form of "I". **Pronoun** P: [çæp] K: hA}p    
>  * **je** : Sister. **Noun** P: [je] ; K: IE  
>     
> **Essentially, this phrase means that...well, Kara loves her sister, too. Always, yo. Always. ** 
> 
> **"ukÉm hA}p IE"**


	10. Deadline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So…how are you going to revolutionize CatCo and the world, Kara Danvers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are just the best. I think this might be the longest chapter, yet, but I couldn't bring myself to break it up. 
> 
> Two things: 
> 
> 1) One of the things that should be treasured is Lois/Kara's relationship in the comics and I've always been so sad that it doesn't exist in the show. Reminders that bb!Kara has frequently called Lois _mom_ and would usually do anything for her. This might be a bit of a tribute to that. 
> 
> 2) I know that many people likely feel like Kara's decision has been a bit drawn out (similar on Cat's train of 'OMFG YOU ALREADY KNOW JUST PICK IT ALREADY') but I feel like this might be a point of genuine contention for the girl. It never sat right to me on the show, how Kara suddenly decided this huge life-changing thing after a half-hearted shrug of an attempt of explanation on the show when Clark visits. It felt very much like trying to thrust a girl who's normally a scientist or engineer in canon (obvs Alex fills that role for her on the show) into being the next Superman trope. It never really felt like they explored the reasons why, so this...might be my tribute to that, as well, good or bad. Kara, after all, deserves the opportunity to choose her own path--to be independent of Kal-El--and I hope she is. It's been one hell of a week for her, huh?
> 
> You guys are all seriously the best and I look forward so much to each and every one of your comments (seriously, I love you all and want to hug you all and pinch your cheeks like the true Italian aunt I am), so please tell me what you think. 
> 
> No translations for this one.

When Catherine pushes open her office doors to a nervously-waving Kara Danvers, glasses set on a nose and a bounce in her step (despite the dark circles Kara doesn’t actually know _how_ to cover underneath her own eyes with concealer adorning them) she takes it for a win that she’s not immediately thrown out when she hastily admits:

“Okay, so I’m still narrowing down my options but I—”

Because Kara isn’t narrowing anything, at all. She’s just doing a very, very poor job at avoiding the questions behind them.

“Oh, no. Too early for your indecisiveness. If I wanted that, I would have watched the _Bachelor_ with Snapper. Go away.” Cat waves a hand, sunglasses set on her nose as she pushes into the office at precisely 7:05 AM, Eve skittering behind with a confused, smiling wave.

“Oh, Kara, I didn’t see you—”

“Ah-ah, Eve, we do _not_ talk to non-employees. Just ooh and aww at them until they decide to pick what they _already clearly know_ is supposed to be their career.”

“Even employees offering really great cupcakes that I can’t afford with a latte on top?” Kara offers, hopeful as she makes a wide-sweeping gesture towards the adorned desk. “A latte metaphorically on top. I did not get latte cupcakes. The latte is here. In my hand.” She doesn’t have time to inform Eve that her’s is on her desk and doesn’t think that little tidbit will win her any favors with the unimpressed woman in front of her.

“No. You’re a professional ghost, Patrick Swayze.”

Kara thinks she’s totally _winning_ at this relationship thing because Cat at least snatches up the coffee before pushing her aside and sliding into her chair.

“I’m not a _horrible_ dancer, Ms. Grant, but I really think I’m more of a…baby at the start of the movie, not really a Patrick—”

“Should I…come back, or—” Eve clears her throat by the door and from the look Cat gives her the assistant rushes in with a second latte before slamming the door on her way out, probably disappearing to another state and changing her name before imploring Witsec to take her under their federal care.

Kara’s pretty certain a lot of Cat’s ex-assistants are in Witsec for fear of their once-employer—she hasn’t confirmed it with J’onn, yet, but she has a sneaking suspicion—Cat would never actually hurt anyone, of course, but the fear she inspires is particularly real and efficient. A fact Cat likely knows and revels in, Kara knows. 

“Different movie. Unless you have your decision, I don’t want to hear it, Kara. And I don’t eat cupcakes before pilates, the last thing I need is a PR stunt of me emptying my stomach like Mel Gibson in the back of a cop car.”

“Okay, eww,” Kara grumbles, nose scrunching, “And no. I don’t—” Imploring hands raise up in the air, exhaustion keeping her shoulders tucked instead of raising, as well— “But!”

“If you ask me for an extension, I am going to fire you, Kara. I’m not even kidding.” Cat’s face looks like she’s particularly serious about that and the hand Kara had been holding up sags just a little.

“I—I don’t need a—who said anything about a, um—” Breath sucks through clenched teeth, “Okay, please don’t fire me. I wasn’t going to ask for an extension, I was going to…” A frustrated, petrified noise, because any other words or possibilities elude her.

“Twiddle your thumbs when you have the whole _world_ at your feet? What are you _doing,_ Kara?” Cat snaps and Kara realizes she might not be doing as well at the relationship thing as she thought, the rest of her sagging with her hand.

Though this is hardly the relationship part of this—this is the…her part. The Kara part.

And, Rao, Kara has _never_ been good at the Kara part.

“Not…what I should be doing.” It’s a weak admission, eyes closing.

 _“Obviously._ ” It’s nearly a huff, “God, you’re young. Where’s your fire? I’ve _seen_ that fire, where did it go? It was in you, yesterday, but _still_ no decision. There is no reason you should be wasting your youth and talents on Netflix reruns of _Great British Bake-Off_ in onesie pajamas with something ridiculously offensive on them like bunnies or penguins--"

“I--” Kara sputters, “They're not onesies.” Quieter, more of a grumble, “And maybe if you stayed over you'd know they're just plaid--”

Cat continues on with a waved wrist, “Your breasts are perkier than Frenchie in _Grease_ and you’re still bemoaning--”

“Ms. Grant,” Kara hisses, pulling her cardigan a little tighter around her chest, eyes flicking towards the closed door before looking forward, despite the fact that there’s very few people in the office, this early on a Friday, and certainly no one that can overhear Cat’s casual hum. Not through thick wood or so many layers of casual dismissal. “I think we're a _little_ off-topic--”

“Oh, stop blushing. I've seen them. Your legs have been wrapped around my _head_ , Kara.” It’s blunt in a way that makes a flush break out on cheeks in the daylight despite the fact that the legs in reference step closer, eyes dropping to lips as Cat opens her mouth to make a quick retort, “And as much as I’d love to help you waste one of your few dwindling hours left making good use of the fact that I’m not paying you for this little sojourn right now--”

“I think it would decidedly not be a waste, Ms. Grant.” Kara perks up, voice husking a little at the way Cat skims a knowing finger down the neckline of a blouse when she’s close enough, no doubt reveling in the feeling of Kara’s eyes tracking it like a raindrop in the middle of a desert. She clears her throat. Shifts when she feels Catherine’s eyes so shamelessly upon her in this small little bubble of glass and reminds herself that there’s a meeting in fifteen minutes that she has no part being in, anymore (She might have had a _small_ little peek at Eve’s schedule on the way in. Accidentally, really. After she put in the password and had to flick through half of the apps to find it) cheeks turning redder at the smirk on familiar lips because for a very weak breath, she’d give up her job at CatCo entirely to feel that smirk on a clenching thigh. “Stop it.” It comes out an octave higher than it should, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Was I? Observant. You still have _some_ fire in you, at least.” It’s anything but innocent as Cat waves a wrist and if Kara’s pouting she’s pretty certain she’s earned the right. “My point is, if I don't push you into making this decision, you're going to be a Golden Girl by the time you actually realize any of your potential. I never should have extended your deadline.”

Kara doesn’t point out the fact that she was trying not to die during the time it would have passed because that won’t do either of the circles under their eyes any favors.

“I'm not--that isn't--I am...I am _perfectly_ capable of--”

“So--” Catherine levels her with a look over the bridge of her glasses that makes Kara feel like she's going to spend the next six hours hand-delivering fruit baskets, straightening her shirt and then her glasses. “Then you've arrived at your decision?”

“Well, that's…” She keeps fixing her glasses like that will somehow repair her life and from the look of an ever-casual (forced) stance, fingers barely curling over the lip of her desk, Cat’s probably close to reaching up and snapping them. So Kara stops fidgeting. Let’s out a huff of a word: “No.” That word doesn’t fit. “I mean, maybe--?” Kara skitters along that specific poor choice, remembering just how much Cat hates _maybes_ , “I mean…no.”

“So you came into my office to just waste my very valuable time when you're currently not under my employment.” It's a drawl and Kara barely keeps from going back to the fidgeting. “A _waste_ , since you’re not telling me what’s rattling around in that head of yours and you haven’t arrived to a decision.”

“I...happen to feel like that's entrapment to answer that question at all.”

“Because your answer would be a yes. A leading question isn’t not necessarily entrapment, Kara, fundamentals.” A tsk of her tongue and Kara closes her eyes. “I have an assistant that you personally vetted and trained.” Cat moves back around to her desk, fingers tenting along familiar wood. “Do you think she's going to refrain from setting the office on fire indefinitely, or is that a fickle little feeling?”

“Yes, Ms.Grant.” Kara's shoulders sag. “No fires, Ms. Grant.”

“So she won't be utterly useless like you're trying to imply.” Cat’s baiting her now and it's difficult to hold a curling tongue--to argue in defense of the woman who she’s had to whirl around the corner and offer tissues several times this week--and from the barest hint of amusement on her (ex?) Boss’ face, she’s well aware.

“No, Ms. Grant.” Kara straightens her shoulders because she can't help it. One area she’s indomitably certain of is the defense of others, “In fact, I think Eve Teschmacher will be an exceptional replacement for me in every possible way.” And there's the blush, again, “Well, um. Almost. Every possible way.”

“Well at least there's one area you're still confident. Go get her to stop looking through the window like a nervous Pomeranian one step from wetting the carpet and then you're out of the building until you give me your decision, Kara. I’m revoking that ‘ _unless professional’_ little loophole.”

“Ms. Grant--”

“Sometimes a bird needs a little push to remember it can fly and all that nonsense. Go.”

“Catherine…” There's a hint of hesitancy here, now, shuffling before she steps forward and can't watch the change in Cat to respond--not here. Not with so much breath resting against her creaking, exhausted ribcage like a rusty jail cell. If Astra had been kept in a cage like that, she would have burst into the night air in a vicious flash of black and white, brilliant and determined and knowing. “How…” Breath catches, rattling against her tongue. “How do I know I'm making this choice for me. Not for...what everyone expects me to be. Because you…you know how I—” She pauses, then, not wanting to admit it in such an open office, even with the door closed, because there’s so much space between them. So much time and hours of both of them spent awake, tossing and turning across the city. Or did Cat sleep? Kara hopes she did. Pressing, instead, “How do I know I’m making this choice for me?”

Dark eyes search her face and without a word Cat glides over to the windows, a shutter of wood closing the office off in muted shades of white, Kara's arms crossing over her chest because she still feels like she's in a little box of glass. There's another sharp draw of wood as Cat pulls something from her desk, tucked away in the back of it. An article. Blinking eyes highlight surprise as blue traces the line of the title, familiar.

It's an article that hangs on the edge of Catherine’s desk with the other bestsellers, but this is a first print copy, tucked away in a CEO’s desk like something precious. Special.

Like the copy of _Watership Down_ that Catherine keeps in her home up high behind glass, a first-edition, inscription clear behind the cover.

This feels like something special and for a brief moment, Kara forgets how to breathe, at all.

_'Supergirl Saves the Day’._

“Did anyone tell you to do that? Did anyone expect that of you, then, or tell you how to start saving the day?”

It's a faraway picture of a blonde popping up from the water by a plane before she'd climbed onto it, gasping and proud. No super-stance, no supersuit, hair clinging to her back better than an evening dress has ever hoped to. Very few in the world know who that hair belongs to and a hitch of breath causes hesitant eyes to look up over the frames of glasses, teeth biting at a lip.

It’s decidedly a rhetorical question.

“No, they didn't, Kara.” Catherine notes, a hint of knowing pride tucking up her lips, “It's time you learn that the decisions you make for yourself are, yes, often the most daunting,” Kara hooks fingers in dark glasses to slide them down a nose--to look into her lover’s eyes as fully as she can--and the smile she receives is small but sincere, a long, powerful finger raising up to brush down the bridge of a nose in gentle greeting, “But there's no danger of making the wrong one if that's your goal. You became Supergirl to help change the world. To protect it. To save it. You'll do this, whatever it is you choose, to do the same. Don't second guess yourself. Go do some soul searching. Talk to your friends--your sister--ask them the important questions you're scared to ask yourself, of course. Well, ask them _again_ since I’m sure you’ve been doing that all week. God, the indecision is nauseating,” But Cat’s still smiling—still stepping closer, “But at the end of the day, you're the one making this decision, Kara. Trust yourself with it. Trust your instincts.”

Kara catches her hand and lets out a quiet breath, shoulders straightening underneath the weight of it. “Keep diving.” She repeats the earlier phrase with a wistful tuck of lips, certain it won't be all that bad as long as she always dives back to this.

“Keep diving.” Cat agrees. “Go. You’ve already cost this paper thousands of dollars with your insecurity.” It's said with a wink and Kara just laughs and gently kisses her.

“Thank you.” The glasses are back, eyes a little lighter behind the frames. “Ms. Grant.” A moment passes between them, before Kara looks down at her chest, flushes, and stumbles: “Wait, do you...really think my--”

“Go, Kara.”

“Right, going.”

She paces all of National City until she makes it back up those forty floors because a handful of hours feels like change overflowing out of her pockets, tumbling out into the streets with each nervous step. And Kara is taking a _lot_ of nervous steps considering she’s pacing. Back and forth. In front of Eve’s empty desk (on an errand halfway across the city booking something for something, apparently) before she pushes open Cat’s office door when listening ears hear an acceptable lull, clearing her throat and trying—

She almost tells her, right then and there, but there’s no one at the desk behind her and for a weak moment, Kara can’t—

“Okay, but what about your--”

“Go.” Cat dully commands, not looking up from her computer.

“But no one’s here to--”

“Go.” Cat repeats.

“All of your--”

“G- _o_.” Cat’s tongue lilts up at the end, “I am not a child. Unlike the mindless drones that putter about claiming that the holocaust did not happen, I am of sound mind. And, as I’m sure you’ve taken great delight in noticing, even sounder body.”

Kara flushes, “Very sound.” The agreement is a murmur--one that Cat doesn’t seem surprised to hear, barreling on ahead:

“Unlike Donald Trump, I am of rightful mind and age to make my own decisions.”

“Bu--”

“I feed myself.”

“But you c--”

“I even dress flawlessly in the morning without any assistance, _Kiera_. Shower. Drink water. I always remember to screw off the cap. Even, miraculously, tend to my son without _any_ form of interference, go figure. It’s almost like I’m a talented, driven, exceptional adult who doesn’t need to be pandered to.”

“Ca--”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Cat looks up, now, standing, folded glasses an accessory to the murderous glint of her tone. “I am not your excuse. I rose an empire with my own two hands. It will not all crumble underneath itself in the few days you’ve been gone, however self-important you think you are. Now go. I’m about to leave, and you’ll need to feed me your decision via phone. You know how many hours you have left, don’t make me remind you, because if you miss your second deadline, you’re not coming back. Decision?”

Kara sighs and moves to leave in explanation, the momentary confidence she’d had when she first entered dying underneath the weight of a sigil burned on her chest, almost making it out of the door before she turns on a heel, desperately trying, “…I could just reschedule your—"

“I swear to every God Matthew McConaughey ever believed in while dropping LSD on the back of Heidi Klum’s yacht in 1999, if you do not leave my office this instant, I will throw you off of the balcony myself.”

Kara’s mouth snaps shut, admittedly a little afraid of the devilish, sincere look in familiar eyes. “I…” A cleared throat. Fidgeting with glasses. Shoulders sagging. “...yes. Ms. Grant.”

“Good. Now that you’ve wasted my time, you have--” A wayward glance to a watch, “Eight hours and seven minutes.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant.” Her head hangs.

“Was my motivational speech not enough motivation? Do I _actually_ have to kick you out like a delinquent? What are you, _seven_?”

Oh, the anger’s becoming real, now, Kara can hear it. Can feel it light like a wick against the edges of the flammable wood of Cat’s desk and she knows people have been fired for far less.

“No, Ms. Grant.” Shoulders hang with her head, frowning, “And your motivational speech was…great. Inspiring. I’m just…”

This isn’t a moment of weak indecisiveness she should have in front of her boss.

“Of course it was!” Cat snaps, “So why are you still here? Soul-searching.” She claps her hands, “Go. Go. Go.”

Kara pauses at the doorway like an _idiot—_ “...so is that a no on lunch, or--”

“For fuck’s sake, Kara!”

If she jumps and skitters from the doorway, she’s just glad Alex isn’t there to see it and make fun of her for the rest of eternity.

Despite herself, some of her few precious hours later, fingers tap along a phone as she hovers aimlessly along the clouds above National City’s horizon, the sky a canvas of watercolors. It’s probably painting Cat’s desk like J. M. W. Turner danced fingers along its tips and she can imagine Cat sitting there as easily as she can fly.

_So...Heidi Klum in 1999?_

A red cape flutters in the wind as she pushes higher, a soft vibration her response, settling in the clouds underneath the fading sun as her finger swipes along a picture of a smiling Cat Grant, a spatula curled in fingers. She promised Alex no cape during superhero mode, but flying…well, she felt like being close to home, today.

Besides, she hasn’t saved anyone all day, lest of all herself.

**_An utterly dreadful party until Goldie’s daughter decided to re-enact Overboard. That’s where I turned down Rob Lowe the first time._ **

_I’ve seen that one!_

It might be a little over-excitable, but her backlog of pop-culture movies is something even Winn hasn’t been able to help rectify. She tries, she does--consistently and with _gusto_ \--but there’s just so many of them. She can speed-read through books, there’s no way to enjoyably speed read a movie.

**_Good for you. Next you’ll tell me you own a TV. What a modern development._ **

But even Kara can hear the hint of a smile in it. A few more seconds pass before she leans hands up--backwards--snapping an upside-down sunset over another country and sending it before she can think twice about it.

A few more minutes, twirling amidst the clouds, imagining Cat propped up by her desk, thumb swiping along a phone, glasses tucked on the bridge of a nose—

**_That’s beautiful._ **

It is—it reminds Kara of the West Hills of Argo and she rests upside down above the clouds, fingers reaching up to hopefully catch a wisp of the color against her skin, phone resting on her chest. But the only thing she catches is intangible light, the light of it sinking into her skin like water into dry dirt

Watching it play along her palm recalls a faint memory of the way the sun set in her mother’s eyes, and a lagging mind wonders what her mother’s guild would have done?

But the guilds were nothing like CatCo and Kara…

Kara’s never been gladder for it, a spattering of memories of the day before flashing through her mind.

\--

_Brad spreads his arms wide, cheeks redder than a cape hiding (unbeknownst to anyone save for one in this building) across the street, reverently tucked away in the closet as the prized possession of a hidden hero._

_Karen pokes his chest, a bold move for someone in H.R., and Snapper just bites into his bagel, not looking up._

_“God you are **such** an ass, Bra—”_

_“I’m an ass who’s right, Karen! Metallo, Reactron, who even was that lizard guy, etcetera, etcetera, etcet—”_

_“You mean E.G., not I.E.” Kara’s eyes haven’t left the pages of his article, trying to clandestinely skim through them without Cat seeing. A task that’s becoming more and more difficult, thoughtlessly providing: “I.E is the shorthand for ‘id est’, which means ‘that is’. It’s used to...to introduce a rephrasing or elaboration for something you’ve already said. Something we already know. What you mean is E.G., an abbreviation for the Latin term ‘exempli gratia’, which literally translates to ‘for the sake of this example’ or…’for example’. I.E, for this particular situation you should probably use ‘E.G’, exempli gratia how I’m using it right now.”_

_The whole room just stares at her before Kara clears her throat, Karen huffing through her nose before turning towards Brad with an almost victorious smirk, “Yeah. **That** , Brad. You asshole. You’re wrong about latin, and you’re wrong about Supergirl!” _

_“Hey--”_

_“ **Quid quid latine dictum sit, altum viditur** and **Caecilius est in horto** , thank you Daily Demo Danvers for pointing out Captain Obvious in the corner. Everyone with a job to the newsroom, puppy prodigy, go get a sandwich or something.” Snapper lives up to his name, **snapping** at everyone until all of them scramble out of the room, leaving Kara sighing in the chair, chin tipping back as she searches the ceiling for something that won’t find her._

_She listens to the hustle and bustle down the hall, fingers skimming along her empty container, eyes settling across glass on James as he makes a wide gesture, arms stretching out towards the sun._

_“ **Cerebrus tamen in villa mansit**.” Is the idle quote that rests on the edge of pursing lips, slowly standing to take in the chaos of life in front of her, pressing fingers against glass like a little girl had to a pod three decades ago. It’s a barrier she doesn’t cross. Maybe Cat’s right--maybe she is a golden retriever. _

_The one left in the town while it burns._

_Snapper is reading through the paper she reluctantly put aside but Kara still feels like his eyes are on his back. Her glasses keep the rest of the world at bay, but she’s certain Snapper’s must have the opposite effect._

_“Well, you know what Oscar Wilde said—”_

_Kara tips her head curiously, lips parting in thought as she looks at Brad, his insistence of Supergirl’s corrupt nature a few moments earlier curling her tongue, “By giving us the opinions of the uneducated, journalism keeps us in touch with the ignorance of the community?”_

_Snapper snorts._

_“I was going to say, ‘I don’t want to go to heaven, none of my friends are there’, but I don’t like any of my friends anyways. **Now** you’re starting to sound like a dem mag, Danvers. Didn’t know you had it in you.” _

_She shuffles, turning away from the glass to take him in, shuffling lead on her nose with an intentionally meek smile._

_“It’s more of a…um, momentary…lack of sleep pragmatism. New development and…short-lived, I promise.” A sigh, “Hopefully I’ll be back to being…you know,” She waves a hand and winces when Snapper’s mouth immediately unhinges to provide exactly what he knows._

_“Insufferably up everyone’s asses with a smile that acts like a slowly-spreading, rusty protractor?”_

_“…well, that’s not really what I’d call it. Like, at all.” Grumbling, “Sort of offensive.” Lower, eyes slitting as she looks at him while he does anything but look at that article, “And mean.”_

_“My doctor warned me that your early morning optimism and sunshine was single-handedly causing my frequent bouts of nausea in the little boy’s room, people were starting to think I got my dazzling figure from bulimia and not by biting off the head of justice, truth, and the American way, chewing it, and spitting it out into an expose.”_

_It’s official, all journalists talk the same, because she’s fairly certain Cat said something very similar to her just last week without the bulimia bit._

_“I literally have no response to that. Like, at all.” Shuffling a little, “Can we…stop talking or do I have to—That sounds rude, I'm sorry. I just mean, you said I shouldn’t…”_

_“Nope, you’re at my mercy.” Snapper drawls._

_“Oh, well…right. Just... **swell.** ”  Clark's visit rubbed off on her. It's not. It's not swell. A little louder, eyes flicking up to look through windows and mayhem to see Cat nowhere in sight, quieter, conspiratorially, “I, um…not that I’m here. I’m not here. But I **did** happen to notice that on Brad’s second paragraph his stet was decidedly **not stetted** and would love the opportunity to—”_

_Snapper doesn’t look up, biting into his bagel as his wrist flicks through._

_He hums and she does not yet know enough to know that this is his version of Cat’s pursed lips—the sign of a good job._

_“I won’t tell her if you don’t, girlscout.”_

_Kara beams and grabs the pages and scurries towards the door, pausing when she hears a rough grumble behind her._

_“Danvers.”_

_“Hmm?” She shuffles glasses—nods—tries to wipe the beam off of her lips, “I mean, yes…sir?”_

_“That was a joke, she already knows, otherwise you wouldn’t be in the building. Welcome to little league.”_

_He slaps a second paper to proof against her chest, stomping past her towards the office and Kara just blinks, watching him leave, suddenly understanding why Cat likes him so much._

\-- 

Another moment—either busy or a hint of hesitation and since Cat Grant doesn’t hesitate, it must be the former—a soft ping dinging amongst the soft rustle of wind.

**_Are you okay, Kara?_ **

But Kara does hesitate, features contorting as she pauses, fingers hovering as wordlessly as her body, breathing in the sun. She could chase it around the world for all of her days, if she wanted, floating above the atmosphere. Warm.

**_Did you sleep?_ **

Kara writes and re-writes the same message what feels like a thousand times before Cat seems to save her.

**_For the record, Heidi has nothing on your legs._ **

A wistful, almost bittersweet smile swells, slowly following the path of warmth along the clouds.

_Why, Ms. Grant, are you hitting on me?_

**_There’s something to be said for being honest. I never had the pleasure with Heidi, but I find myself thinking about the pleasure with you, often._ **

A stomach clenches--her heartbeat hums like the breath caught in the back of her throat--and Kara stops amidst the clouds, watching the sun recede. She doesn’t feel cold often, but she does feel cold here. Her phone, on the other hand, feels a little warmer.

_Why do you think I messaged you while watching the sunset? Beautiful things always make me think of you._

Teeth tuck at a lip. It takes longer than it usually should.

**_Your prose and confidence have certainly improved._ **

Did she fluster her? That couldn’t be possible. It’s a nice image, though--imagining Cat Grant’s soft, wistful smile in the fading light of her office, reverently skimming fingers down a phone. Kara knows the majority of details of Cat’s life--her time schedules and routines; how she looks when she smiles or laughs against a shoulder; how she dances in a kitchen, now, or ruffles fingers through Carter’s hair--but one detail she doesn’t know is what image pops up on a phone whenever Kara calls it.

Has Catherine stolen pictures like Kara has, a quiet flicker of something precious and sacred? Saved on the edge of phones with tucked smiles and hums in the back of her throat?

_I blame you. Brilliance by osmosis, maybe?_

**_That’s blame I’ll gladly take._ **

It gets colder and colder and eventually Kara can’t fight the lump in her throat--can’t fight the chill at her fingers--every breath in the atmosphere chasing icicles along her lips. Even she can feel the cold, here.

\--

_“Kara,” Cat snaps, not looking up from her debriefing as she passes the desk, Eve scrambling beside her._

_“I—” Kara scrambles to hide the evidence of scattered pages in front of her, pen hanging limply from her mouth, a faint hint of ink staining the corner of her mouth because Cat wasn’t supposed to be anywhere **near here** — “This isn’t what it looks li—”_

_Cat stops at that, slowly turning on the axis of her heel._

_Kara is certain that the fire up her neck must be tangible._

_That was decidedly the wrong thing to say._

_There’s a hint of a devilish smirk there that flares a blush underneath the rim of Kara’s collar, pen sagging further from her lip, causing her to strike a startling resemblance to a bright balloon with a pen hanging out the edge of its thin skin, waiting to pop and inelegantly **raspberry** every ounce of air out of her lungs into the office air. _

_Before Kara can stutter out a reply, long fingers snatch the pen from her lips and there goes all of that air in a shuddering gasp, because Cat’s gaze—intense and unwavering and knowing—can still petrify her._

_Without a word, Cat snaps the pen in half and Kara shouldn’t be so unreasonably attracted to that. (Oh, God, is that a fetish? Kara has no idea what that would even **be** ). _

_“Wow…um…” Kara clears her throat, “Those pilates classes are…particularly effective, aren’t they, Ms. Grant?”_

_“ **Exceedingly**.” Cat drops the pieces of the pen on Kara’s desk like a warchief dropping the head of her greatest enemy on the doorstep of her neighboring kingdom—a warning. A dusty swallow at the word. “Flattery will only manage to keep you from being kicked out for so long, **Keira.** Silent.”_

_“Yes, Ms. Grant.” She shrinks back in her chair._

_“Invisible.”_

_“Yes, Ms. Grant.” She adjusts her glasses._

_“Shadow.”_

_“Yes, Ms. Grant.”_

_“Some might say a dog, even **.** ” There’s a hint of a smile there, for both of them and Kara can't help the way her own spreads, despite the nerves, sighing, because now Cat was just milking it._

_“ **Woof** , Ms. Grant.” _

_Cat starts walking away and Kara’s eyes flick down before she hears Cat call over her shoulder._

_“That means **stop working** , Kiera!” _

_Kara clears her throat and drops the page._

_“Yes, Ms. Grant.”_

_An attentive ear listens until heels click outside of a personal elevator—until the doors slide open and then close—to pick an article back up, again, glasses firmly on place as fingers uncap a new red pen, white margins already smeared with it._

_She doesn’t need speed-reading, for this—she won’t—not in this hidden office, and with the absence of a very intense Cat Grant, Snapper’s words bouncing around her skull, she’s determined. Kara’s **determined.**_

_Determined to pass a test for a job she hasn’t even decided on. After all, Supergirl has always thrived underneath the worst conditions—destruction and mayhem and chaos—and this is no different._

_Whether Kara knows how to admit it, or not._

\--

Another hour ticks off that clock before she admits in the tap of fingers along the bright edge of the screen in the fading darkness of the thin atmosphere.

_I don’t know what to do, Catherine. I heard you, I did, it’s just...big._

There’s no delay in response, this time, and when Kara closes her eyes, she can hear Cat say it.

**_Take two (take eight?) since you always need to hear everything two to eight times. There’s only one thing we can ever really do, Kara:_ **

A soft, gentle ping:

**_Keep diving._ **

So Kara does, a flash of red and blue plummeting through the air towards a city never abandoned or left behind, eyes stinging as she does, one last memory tucked in the back of her mind.

Determined and maybe, just maybe, _ready._

\--

_“Brad, you made a lot of changes in the past hour.”_

_“What?” Brad blinks._

_Cat waves the article in front of him, as unbiased a piece about Supergirl potentially destroying the city as Supergirl herself might be able to frame, the hints of misogynistic cynicism toned down underneath a realistic thrum of failure. An article that had started as a one-sided piece about Supergirl’s negligence an hour ago (cynically juxtaposing how easily she had defeated Reactron against how **easily** she had defeated Metallo suggesting that National City might not know if she was really ‘defeating’ anything at all) turned into a realistic tale of how self-sacrifice wasn’t necessarily the best course of action for everyone’s safety. _

**_Perhaps the most dangerous oversight of Supergirl’s, even ignoring the wellbeing of those seemingly under her protection, was the notion that she might callously brush aside her own safety to the point of no return. This blatant disregard for her own life showcases a pattern of self-destructive behavior that cannot be ignored, and should not be, not by the people of a city she’s sworn to protect. Ignoring the possibility that this path might put National City in a precarious position, defenseless against a future threat upon Supergirl’s untimely demise brought on by next week’s bout of martyrdom (or maybe the week after next, who can keep count) I’m particularly distraught by a deeper truth._ **

_The article took on a new life after an hour of editing, an unbiased (although, truthfully, particularly biased) look at the cruel realities of the damages Supergirl had caused and risks she had taken with not only her own safety, but everyone in National City with her actions, coming to light._

**_Supergirl heralds herself as a beacon of hope to everyone in the city but disregards the most prevalent notion behind the idea of ‘hope’—that we might all fight another day. While the idea of self-sacrifice is a noble one and perhaps a genuine possibility in the heroine’s chosen line of work, the reality of it leaves the city unprotected against something worse than the next super-villain in tights that crawls out of the wood work.  What is the ‘hope’ when the greatest chance of saving someone else means losing yourself in order to do it? Was there no other way, Supergirl? Someday, will there be no other way?_ **

_Kara dutifully sank further into the shadows of her chair as Cat read through it, Brad’s name signed underneath the author, ignoring the red ink that stained underneath nails._

**_‘Hope’, I’m discovering, is desperately clinging to the chance that one day we will live in a world where we won’t find out—where we won’t be forced to trade one person’s life for another—and despite my issues with Supergirl and her methods, I can imagine both of us believe that there couldn’t possibly be a better future for National City:_ **

_But Cat’s lips thinned the moment she finished reading it._

**_A future, I hope, where the hubris of the righteous don’t feel compelled to sacrifice themselves, at all, and the brave meek don’t seek to join them underneath the twisted guise of ‘heroism’._ **

_“Normally you’re sickeningly biased—and God knows you still are—but your cynicism is a necessary counterbalance to a potential puff piece.” Cat’s brows rise and Snapper adds:_

_“You somehow managed to pull your head out of your ass long enough to make something decent. Wordy. Arrogant. Unnecessary, but not the pig’s shit you normally slap on a bagel before trying to send it to print.”_

_Brad’s lips part but nothing comes out._

_Two sets of editor’s their eyes flick towards her across the pen and Kara shrinks back into her chair, making a great show of doing absolutely nothing, at all, trying to pick lint off of her sweater or something (but not being suicidal enough to pull out her phone), clearing her throat._

_The two-second silence is unbearable._

_Snapper hums. Cat’s lips purse._

_And James doesn’t look away from Kara for a second, fingers nearly snapping his pencil in two when he closes his eyes, veins bulging about a wrist._

_“It’s in.” Cat decides, “Keep all of your work this compelling, Brad, and maybe next week you won’t wind up as a male gigolo for alternative clients outside of a backyard country wet bar. The prose is awful, but passable. It’s in. Next.”_

_The article is pushed through and Kara tries to hide her beam, somehow managing to make it all the way up to her unnamed, undecided office before she dances around like an absolute idiot, squealing into the insufferable whiteness of it, flopping down onto the desk with a happy hum._

_Magic._

_It’s like magic._

_And she swears, in an office across a sea of white offices just like her own—through the hustle and bustle and life she’ll spend the rest of the night remembering—she hears an almost grunt of a sigh around a bagel._

**_“Way to go, Danvers.”_ **

**_“What was that?” Cat’s cutting voice might retort._ **

**_“Nothing.”_ **

_And only once a door closes, someone might hum, a pen clicking on the edge of a table, proud and full of velvet and more Catherine than Cat._

**_“Way to go, indeed.”_ **

At lunch Brad had jostled her shoulder and Cat hadn’t looked away and Kara decided to make herself scarce, after that, her own words pressing heavily against her chest, all of it--all of it lost in a breath the moment Cat curled her finger hours later, beckoning her towards a finished paper and an art room.

Hope wasn't loss. Hope was fighting another day.

For Cat, she'd fight as many of them as she could.

\--

Ask the questions, Cat had said—ask the questions of others that she’s too scared to ask, herself.

That’s exactly what she does.

It’s not to her sister or Winn or James. It’s not Cat or Lucy or even Eliza, who would try her best and make mountains out of pancakes, patting an indomitable cheek like she could conquer the world with a civilian smile.

(Eliza could. She could conquer anything.)

It’s a woman who tucked the hair behind her ears, once, and told her that she didn’t need to be a hero to be extraordinary.

And Kara shuffles, nerves caught in her chest when she stands in front of an office that’s not as familiar as it once was, fingers skimming along the lettering of a door before she leans, watching.

It was always so easy for Lois, to lose herself in a stack of papers, and some things haven’t changed, a dark set of eyes not noticing her for a moment as she watches.

“Knock-knock.”

“Kara?” Lois’ eyes slowly skim upwards, surprise blinking into excitement, immediately hopping up from a cluttered desk to move forward, removing silver frames from above a smile.

“Surprise.” Kara’s hum is bashful, holding up croissants from Paris, something that’s sure to be a welcome gift.

“Oh, wow, you shouldn’t have.” The coo turns into something close to a moan when Lois tucks open the bag, inhaling a familiar scent of crumbling layers of buttered flakes that might make a grown man cry. They actually have if Clark being the grown man counts. “Are these…?”

“Oh, yeah.” Kara winks, “The real stuff. I’ve been...floating around for a little while.” She clears her throat, “And I thought I’d bring something by.”

“Ohmgod,” Lois already takes a bite, humming, leaning back onto her desk with a happy noise in the back of a swallowing throat. “Between you and Clark spoiling me, I’m never going to fit into my old jeans again. I know you don’t get this, but I’m not as young as I used to be. Metabolism’s slow.”

“Well you look fabulous. Buuut...” Kara plucks back up the bag and happily holds it out of a short reach, “If you don’t want me tempting you.”

“Hey!” Lois hops up twice before managing to snatch it back to a happy laugh, shoving Kara’s shoulder. And Kara, breathless and smiling and _nostalgic_ is more than happy to let it be shoved. “Let’s not get too hasty, Danvers. First off, happy you’re alive.” Kara bows and then does a quick spin on her heel (not too fast, she doesn’t want to whirlwind _Daily_ Planet) to showcase this very fact.

“Very alive. Still okay, like I was the past twenty times you texted me.” The jest is intentionally kind in a way Kara would never be able to help, with Lois, eyes soft as the bag wrinkles in the air between them, “And here I thought only Alex could give Eliza a run for her money.”

“You know us Lanes make competitivity an actual sport. A sport with rankings, a constant commentating father, and a running byline about who’s the most competitive. I’m in the lead. Because I’m busy writing the bylines and Lucy is too busy either punching people or arguing about it to catch up.” Kara, of course, knows this. Because Lois wasn’t the only one who blew up her phone—another Lane did, as well—but the older sister probably knows that, too.

“Lois—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lois waves a hand. “So...what brings you a couple hundred miles over to my neck of the Metropolitan woods.” Brows raise, looking over her shoulder like a man of steel might appear, hushed, “Is Clark--”

“Clark,” Kara pushes off of the doorway, lowering her voice a little, “Clark...doesn’t actually know I’m here.”

“Oh.” That causes the reporter to lower the bag and the croissant, entirely, immediately surprised and concerned in a way that makes Kara feel guilty for not visiting because that immediate level of concern really shouldn’t be the first response, should it? “So you came to see...me. Which means--” Her eyes slit and Kara’s never seen the resemblance between the Lane sisters quite so clearly, before, “What did he do?”

“Lois,” Kara shakes her head, raising hands as a short ball of protective fury comes closer.

Between Lois and Cat, Kara’s certain high-heels and writer’s fury in a short package might become a mythological fury that prevails far after Supergirl is gone.

“You know I love him, but Kara you have to remember it doesn’t matter how old he is, he’s still a man-child. He says _stupid_ things some--”

“It’s not Kal’s fault.” It’s a rushed defense, voice raising an octave at the end, coming forward into the office to correct, “I mean, it’s not even Kal.” A cleared throat, far more careful with Kal-El’s secret than her own, clarifying, “No one’s in the building.” She sits down in the chair across from a woman she’s known for a decade—longer than a sister she left snoring in her apartment miles away—smile a little timid, “I came to ask...” A sharp breath that swells shoulders, “I came to you for some advice.”

“Oh.” Lois tents hands on a desk, rapt attention set on Kara’s eyes in a way that makes her both comfortable and nervous. Similar to how Alex can see right through her, sometimes. Would she have been as close with Lois, had she stayed? “Well if you flew all this way, the least I can do is listen. What’s wrong?”

“Do you feel like you make a difference?” Kara’s voice is quiet, eyes falling down to palms in her lap, “With everything else you could be doing. Your sister...your dad...they think they make the largest difference fighting.”

“Lucy is pretty good at that.” Lois quips and blue eyes immediately snap up, defensive, still, of her missed friend—this is the second snipe—and the older sister raises hands in surrender, “Okay, before I get a lecture about my own sister and listening to her and...yada, yada, yada, why don’t you keep going and I’ll stop talking and be nice.”

Kara sighs because that’s as much as she’ll get on the truce front.

“I think _I_ do sometimes. Think that the only difference I can make is by fighting. Sometimes I think all I know how to do is fight because I…” A breath, eyes flicking away, “I’ve spent so long on this planet just _fitting in_ ….” The words are hard to straighten on her tongue, crooked and twisted with no meaning in sight, a frustrated breath in her nose.

“What happened?” Lois gently prods, getting out of her chair to cross the small distance, leaning on the desk above Kara’s averted gaze, hand falling down to curve fingers around a shoulder. Gentle: “Hey, you make a difference by more than just fighting, Kara.”

“I just...sometimes I feel like I can’t talk about it with Alex or Clark. The fact that I’ve been...forced to hide myself for so many years. Not just the powers, Lois.” There’s a strangled curl in her voice, remembering what red felt like on her tongue even a year later--remembering the way Cat’s fingers trill down her spine at night.

Remembering the way Catherine looked at her and informed her that she hadn't believed she was ordinary for a second and Kara felt almost shamefully relieved.

Remembering who she could be and who she has a chance to be with one quivering breath.

“Oh, Kara.” It’s soft, almost a little broken--guilty--and from the way Kara’s spine straightens, that might be exactly what she was trying to avoid. “I’m sorry.”

“I suppressed my culture. My...my intellect. What I learned, there. My dreams. Jeremiah taught me to always fit in and I’m...so thankful for that. I don’t want to sound like I’m _not_ thankful. They taught me to rely on my heart. But sometimes, I wonder...I wonder who I would have been on Krypton. If I would have become a scientist like my father, or a justicar like my mother, or...”

“You would have been as much of a hero there.” Lois says like there’s no doubt in her mind, stooping down on heels in front of the chair, hands falling to knees tucked knees like Kara’s twelve, all over again. And Kara _feels_ twelve. “As you are here. The profession doesn’t matter, Kara. The difference does.”

The words settle between them and Kara swallows.  

“Cat told me I could have any job at CatCo I want.” Kara murmurs, quoting: “Within reason.”  

“Cat?” Lois straightens a little, surprise obvious on her face--voice--because no one had been more vocal about Kara staying as far from CatCo as possible than her boss’ nemesis two and a half years ago. “Cat _Grant_ did? Are we talking about the same Cat Grant, because she--” There’s a momentary pause when Kara looks back up with a withering, tired look, “Okay, okay. Again, sorry. No catty Cat talk. That’s just...wow. That’s pretty big, Kara.”

“Very big. And all I can think is that I…” A hint of a quiet, sad laugh on Kara’s lips, “I really love my job. I really love working with Cat.” Lois opens her mouth, again, but from another look from the Kryptonian, shuts it, “But I don’t...I don’t have what I would have had on Krypton—who I would’ve been—and I don’t know if that’s what’s…if that’s why. When you're 18 on Krypton, you pick your guild but I'm...I’m not that girl, anymore. I haven't been since I left.”

“Let me see if I can’t...untangle this for you,” Lois gently hedges, patting knees, “You’re wondering how you can make the largest difference possible at CatCo...but you’re wondering if that’s what you’re really supposed to do. What you’re meant to do. Who you...would have been on Krypton?” Almost knowingly, “It’s tough to pick something you never thought was possible.”

“...right.” Kara breathes. “I don’t know if I can even do it, Lois. I’m not...I’m _not_ Clark.” It’s a little more insistent, a little louder-- “I’m Supergirl, not Superman. I’m _Kara_ , not Clark. I’m...I’m so tired of not being me, and Catherine’s made me realize I--” Kara looks back up, finally, a little more resolute, not noticing the subtle slip of a name: “I want to be me. Not the person I think I’m supposed to be. Not some...some shadow of my cousin, Lois. I love Kal, I do, but what if I--what if I’m only thinking of choosing what I'm choosing because of him. Because what I would have been isn't an option anymore--”

“Oh.” It’s a quiet look, pieces of a puzzle coming together behind a familiar, sisterly smile, “Kara...do you remember when we first met?” Lois gently asks, brows raising, voice impossibly softer. And Kara nods, the faintest memory of older, kind eyes, surprised and a little scared (on a little girl’s behalf, an adult now realizes), guilt clogging the throat of a girlfriend who didn’t know how to take in a grown child from another planet. “You couldn’t speak English or...anything then, really. And I gave you a book…”

“ _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_.” Kara immediately supplies, brows knitting, “Yeah, did I ever tell you how _weird_ and inappropriate of a choice for a kid that--”

“It was all I had in my apartment, Kara.” Lois shakes her head, cutting her off, “I lived _here_.”

“Why do you say that like it’s past-tense?” Kara teases and Lois smirks, throwing a pen at her that’s caught with a quick, deft hand before it can land.

“ _Anyways_ , it was written by...?”

“Hunter S. Thompson.” It’s an immediate fact that tumbles from ready lips.

“A Pulitzer award winning journalist. Once you realized what a book was, you read every single one in that library we brought you to, remember? And grabbed every book you could at the Kent’s. And all of Jeremiah’s books and I bet _that_ library, too.” Lois smiles, gaze fond and Kara smiles--laughs a little sheepishly and ducks her nose like Alex does when Eliza shows old pictures to J’onn anytime her foster mother visits for dinner--ears faintly picking up the noise of steps down the hall. “You tore through it. And once you stayed at Midvale...you wrote me. Every day for two years.  You _still_ write me.” Gently sharing, tucking up a chin with kind, older fingers than the ones that tucked up a down-turned chin so many years ago, “And I keep every single one of them.”

Kara blinks a hint of moisture away, reaching up to curl fingers around a wrist. “That’s...so sweet, Lois. But I really don’t get what this has to do with--”

“You’re a writer, Kara. Both you and Clark, you have a gift with words. Not when you’re speaking, Clark’s about as eloquent as a sack of rotting meat.” Lois’ smile spreads, a softness as the edges, footfalls pausing down the hall, voices (familiar but faint) fading on Kara’s mind as she searches familiar eyes. “And no offense, you’re right there with him. But, hey, I’m roadkill compared to the both of you—none of us should be speakers—anyways.” A shake of the head, some of Lois’ ponytail falling in front of her eyes and Kara’s fingers itch to put it back in its place.

“Tell me about it. You should’ve seen the pep-talk I needed before that whole Myriad thing.”

“Oh, I believe it.” A fond smile, continuing, “You used to tell me about everyone in town, how you met them. You used to tell me their _stories_ , Kara. And not the made-up, fictional kind. You used to give people a voice. And that was all you, before the cape. You were a girl who wanted to help people be seen--be heard--to give them a chance. Maybe that would've been the science…guild, or whatever it was called, on Krypton like your father. Discovering how the world worked. Or maybe you're fair, like your mother. Or maybe... you're something else, Kara.”

“Or…both.” Kara breathes, nails curving along holes in jeans.

“Maybe both.” Lois agrees, “Either way, you’re right, I think some part of you is ready to be free, Kara. Ready to don a different kind of symbol. To answer your question...yeah. I feel like I make a difference. Because being a journalist isn’t just how I’m heard...it’s how I help people who don’t have voices--people who don’t have a chance to speak for themselves, people like _you_ who had things taken from them--this is how I give them hope. A voice. This is how I change the world, Kara. This is what I can do, and what I can contribute. And, yes, you have a talent for writing.”

“Really?” It’s quiet and doubtful and she leans into a hand when fingers brush along her cheek.

“But...the real truth is, if you’re a writer, you can’t keep it hidden for forever. And I think Kit has given you a fantastic opportunity. Go for it. I see it eating at you.”

“You think...so you really think it’s me?” Kara gently asks, “Not—” A breath, voicing it, “Not me following in Clark’s steps.”

“I think it’s impossible for _you_ to be anything other than you, Kara. Was that your first instinct? Junior reporter?” Lois stands, once more leaning against a desk, crossing her arms, and for a second it’s not hard to picture Lois and Cat younger and causing hell at the _Daily Planet_ , at all, but the next second, she turns the question over on the tip of her tongue.

On Krypton she can imagine picking the Science Guild.

On Earth…

On Earth, she can’t imagine wanting anything else in the world other than hearing Snapper’s hum, watching Cat’s lips purse…and hoping a man named Josh Clay had a voice—a chance—and wanting to be the one to give it to him. She still doesn't know if he will, but she wishes--

“...yeah. Yeah, I think it was.” Kara hesitantly admits, a girl not used to going after what she wants, slowly standing, as well. A nervous smile spreads, “It is.” A breath, stronger. “It definitely is.” There’s a pause, not focusing on the steps as they come closer, closing the distance between them, tugging Lois into a hug that tumbles breath out of her old friend’s lips from the quickness of it, Kara trying not to squeeze quite so tight. But it’s hard—it’s _hard_ —because this is a person who she finally feels like she doesn’t miss, when Lois is standing so close in front of her, because she feels like all of Lois is right here and now Kara doesn’t want to let go. “Do you really keep my letters?”

“Of course I do, Kara.” It’s gentle--soothing--fingers brushing through hair, and when they pull away, Kara’s smile is brighter than the sun. Squeezing shoulders like Kara can feel the weight of it, some of the exhaustion falling to the side because part of her _can,_ “You’re gonna do great.” She waves a finger in her face even as two sets of footfalls stop outside of a desk, “This does not mean you get out of writing me.”

“Try and stop me. Thanks, Lois. And...you know why I couldn’t bring this up to Clark, he would feel so guilty if he knew I--”

“Don’t mention it.” A pat, pulling away to tug up the forgotten bag of food, once more sniffing it like a delicate sin, a knock on the open door pulling both of them out of their gentle reverie, Kara’s heart catching in the throat at the sight of a familiar smile, the scent of ink and something else lingering on skin.

“Kal--”

“Don’t mention what?” There stands Clark Kent, hands fidgeting glasses with a wink, Kara immediately untangling herself to hug him before she catches the woman to his left, both of her eyebrows raising when her nose catches onto what the familiarity of ink is attached to.

Catherine Grant.

It’s more than the exhaustion that causes her to stumble, this time.

“--lark. Clark.” Kara’s voice raises two octaves and she can practically feel Lois resisting the urge to sigh into her hand (likely far too happily pre-occupied with a bag of croissants and a quick kiss from her fiancé that itches the edges of ears to do so). But it’s easy to ignore Lois when there’s Cat Grant, inexplicably in Metropolis, silver glasses donned on a nose and lips spread in an imperceptible line. “Clark and...Cat. Which isn’t weird or unexpected, at all. Totally, completely normal.”

“Kiera, I said take a few days off, not run off to the Daily Planet.” Cat’s greeting needs some work and Kara wishes those glasses weren’t there so that she could properly assess it, a dull pounding that feels in time with a heartbeat in a dry throat. It shouldn’t feel like days but it burns against her chest and Kara wonders what happened to make dark circles sink so deeply into skin.

Cat hadn’t taken off her sunglasses, this morning, and Kara sees every inch of the depths, now.

“Well speak of the devil. Ears burning, Kitty?” Lois’ voice is far too bright--fake--and Cat’s smile spreads to match, a gentle resolve moments before changing into something darker as Metropolis’ ace reporter pops open that brown bag, taking one last bite of croissant before shoving the bag into Kara’s suddenly-useless arms. Quieter so that the other two might not hear her, but from the family trait of superhearing and the slight slit of Cat’s eyes, Kara’s pretty sure they do. “Thanks, Kar.” Kara shifts underneath the pat to her shoulder, immediately taking the bag as Lois dusts her hands, a reflexive rumble on the youngest lips in the office.

“Anytime, Lo’.”

“Well that devil, She _does_ wear Prada.” Cat drones but Kara can feel eyes unmoving from her, burning a searing photograph up a neck and she nervously fidgets with her glasses and snaps the bag closed, sheepishly looking up to Kal-El with a shrug. “Sinful women can’t help but be well-dressed.”

Clark, who Kara is sure has been between Cat and Lois’ feuds for years, doesn’t seem particularly phased, addressing his cousin directly in the midst of it.

“Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were following me to town? I thought you talked it through with Alex—the whole moving thing is still a no-go, right? Either way, I would’ve set up the couc--are those croissants?” Clark visibly perks up and Kara pushes forward, inbetween the two women, handing them to her cousin.

“It was a last minute thing, Clark.” She clears her throat, raising up her hands (and a brown bag) in apology: “I didn’t mean to intrude on...whatever is happening here. No one is moving anywhere. Except me leaving. I should, g--”

“Oh, no interruption. I just ran into Clark on the way up.” For anyone else Cat would leave it there, and Kara doesn’t miss Clark and Lois curiously watch the flush to Cat’s usually stone cheeks when she adds: “I’m here to talk to Perry. It’s a short visit.”

A tongue darts out over wind-chapped lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Metropolis?” Kara’s voice lowers, a familiar whisper, fingers curling tighter into the bag she hasn’t quite left entirely with Clark, yet, eyes suddenly set on the other woman, ignoring two sets of raised, dark eyebrows. “I would have... ”

She trails off, suddenly unsure of what she would have done, at all, because she still wound have been as decidedly _decision-less_ as she was an hour ago if she hadn’t come here.

“Last I checked, I don’t need to clear my travel itinerary with ex-assistants.” Cat’s voice is sharp and Clark’s raises an octave when it interrupts.

“Ex?” A warm hand falls to her shoulder, gentler--confused--stumbling behind a familiar pair of lead glasses, “Um, excuse me, hah. _Ex_ -assistant? The other day was your last day, and now we’re throwing the whole… _ex_ word into the mix? Kara, wh--”

“Well, I--” Kara sputters a little, standing taller, eyes not moving from hazel. They look browner in Metropolis than they ever had in National City. “I’m _still..._ maybe I’m not your assistant, but I could have--”

“Booked a flight on the tailcoat of my rewards points? Your replacement was adequate. Whatever you do on your day off is none of my business, though I’ll be impressed to see _how_ you’ll make it home if you don’t leave here, soon. Since the only flight home is on charter.” She hums, lifting up Kara’s wrist in familiarity, tapping the white gold of a watch that Cat knows won’t be accurate.

“Tick. Tock.”

“Oh, God, _four hours?_ ” Kara squeaks, cheeks far redder in a city that’s never been her home underneath such familiar eyes, swallow rough. There’s more relief that it hasn’t passed.

“Indeed. Lois,” Cat tips her coffee in a false gesture of greeting, “Let’s not do lunch next time.”

“More than okay with that.” Lois falsely coos and somewhere, in that, they share an almost sincere smile. “It’s a tradition.”

“Clark,” Cat practically purrs as she turns around on a heel, heading towards the editor’s office, Kara coughing, any hint of Lois’ sincere smile falling.

“Oh, _eww_.” She grumbles, finally releasing her food hostage into her cousin’s eager hands.

Clark looks between them, brows knitting—though the curiosity doesn’t stem him for a moment from immediately snatching up a croissant and biting into it with a shrug, but the food distracts him long enough for there to be a question over whether he was curious, at all. He looks presently surprised the moment he chews, perking up, “Paris?”

Kara nods, plopping back down into the seat she was just in, watching Cat stride across the office—and there’s a bit of strain, trying to focus enough to listen to her heels, adjusting glasses over tired eyes—Clark’s smile visible through a mouthful as Lois sighs and sets back at her desk. It’s a lot easier to ignore the eldest Lane sister’s own innate (unique) form of x-ray vision when it’s from behind a mountain of paperwork.

“Nifty.”  

Instead, Kara watches Cat through glass the entire time, the soft smile nervously tucking up her lips eventually melting as she listens to Lois and Clark bicker and talk about their days, sharing another croissant with happy hums.

Their wedding is going to be adorable.

Alex will likely make vomiting motions behind her back the entire time and Kara genuinely can’t _wait._

The conversation ebbs and weaves and Cat’s shoulders almost imperceptibly slump in a chair and Perry (Kara thinks he’s aged so much since she last saw him; when was the last time she was even here, when she was thirteen?) leans back in his and a wrinkled hand stretches out to pat her hand and Kara swallows.

“Did...Cat happen to mention what hotel she was staying in?” Kara asks in the middle of a conversation, apparently, raising a hand up, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“She always stays in the Ritz anytime she's in town,” He immediately turns around to Lois with raised hands, explaining, “Please remember, I am the innocent man-meat she eyes and always tries to lure there, not a willing participant.”

“Okay, eww.” Kara’s nose wrinkles, finally looking up from the intimate vulnerability Cat likely did not expect her to go all voyeuristic on, wanting to give her privacy, “One: Please never say man-meat, again. For the good of all of us on Earth”

“I second that motion.” Lois raises her hand, “For more than one reason.”

“Two, and I repeat with emphasis: _eww.”_

“I more than second that motion.” Lois, unlike Kara, glowers.

“Yeah...yeah, sorry, it didn’t really come out all that--” Clark’s family resemblance comes in the form of a sheepish smile, Lois pointing towards him despite the peck she leaves on his cheek.

“What did I say? Big man-child.”

“Hey.” The protest is weak, Kal-El sinking onto the leg of Kara’s stolen office chair, the blonde immediately hopping up from it the moment Perry White’s office door opens, watching the way Cat’s shoulders have sagged just the slightest--the way she squeezes his wrist--the way her smile catches when she turns around to see Kara standing there, wordlessly turning on clicking heels to leave before their eyes can meet, at all.

“We’ll do dinner? I have to fly tonight. Home. Fly like a regular human person. On a plane with other regular human--”

“Fuck you’re both so bad at that. Just stop.” Lois grumbles into her stack, reaching one hand up to grab and squeeze Kara’s hand before she’s trotting out of the door. “Dinner!”

“Come by the apartment!” Clark calls after her, posture immediately hunching when he sees Perry’s inquisitive eyes coming closer to Lois’ office and Kara can hear her cousin bumbling (nervous and stutter) from the elevator, skidding on the metal into the back of it just in time to stand next to Cat before the doors close.

Cat looks intent to look at the elevator’s dinging signal over anything else.

“I’ve missed you.” It’s probably not the best way to start a conversation—especially not between them—but it is the truth, hushed and expelling from the back of Kara’s throat into the metal, old elevator between them. The walls rattle like Grodd (she’s heard stories) has gripped the top with over-zealous fingers, shaking it around like dinner, and Kara swallows, trying to focus—breathe. “I know it’s…well, it’s only been a day, but I…I wasn’t myself this morning, I mean I haven’t been myself in—” Her eyes flick over to Cat’s solid, stern profile, watching the way her thumb slams into the button after wiping it with a napkin like that might make it go faster and Kara lets out a sigh, guessing—“Not the way to start a conversation?”

“Not even close.” Cat agrees and Kara barely keeps from sighing again.

“Then can we talk? Back at the Ritz?” At a raised eyebrow is the response, though Cat seems perfectly content not to look at her, Kara explains, “Clark told me. Which, by the way, do you really have to keep hitting on my c…” Pursed lips, “...losest friend?”

“Closest friend?” Cat scoffs, “If you were Clark’s closest friend, I’m sure he would have been mentioned more than this past week, where he mysteriously showed up in your life and I found you having a _Lifetime_ talk with his fiancée. My rival. I’m sure he would have been invited to those little game night sessions of yours--”

“The ones you haven’t been to? For your information _yes_ , he has. We live in different cities, Cat.” Kara snaps, tone surprisingly cold and she watches the way Cat reacts to the rarity--to the harshness of a Kryptonian voice in such small quarters directly solely at her.

“You have a picture of that computer gnome on your desk, your _actual_ closest friend, but you haven’t mentioned Clark _once_. Although I suppose there was an interesting, albeit _hilarious_ , rumor floating around the office about you sleeping with him.” That, at least, Cat genuinely looks like she’s put no stock in, “Meanwhile, all I hear about is how Winston has done some kind of devious—”

“Don’t.” It’s sharp and cutting, now, and she watches Cat’s shoulders tense--watches her barely jump--and realizes that once-heroic fingers have curled so tightly along the rail at the back end of an elevator that it bends. The anger is quick and swift and righteous as it sets the similarly-bending steel of a jaw, and Kara looks away from her lover’s sharp surprise in case _fear_ is one of the things to greet her. “ _He_ was there by my side for two weeks last year when I couldn’t get out of bed.” What else can she be but thoughtlessly defensive--protective--despite the fact that Cat doesn’t know that she’s questioning the only blood family she has left.

Because the fact that Clark doesn’t have a picture of them on his desk but she keeps his blanket close to her heart stings more than she’ll admit. Maybe she doesn’t keep a photo of them on her own desk (maybe it’s hypocrisy), but there’s one on her mantel of a young thirteen year old girl with smiling, nervous eyes and Clark and Lois’ hands on her shoulders. She would like to think the same one is framed in a city lifetimes away by foot by and a handful of minutes by flight.

“He’s been there anytime I’ve ever asked--”

“I suppose I’m just surprised he never mentioned you, then. Given the fact that you’ve worked for me for two and a half years. You haven’t come up _once_ , Kara.”

It hurts more than it should and Kara can’t stop her face from crumpling (not when she’s still exhausted in this small little elevator, anyways) at the weight of it, turning towards silver doors, watching as they near the lowest floor. A soft, slow huff out of her nose. It takes more effort than it ever should to force the anger down underneath curling fingers, leaning off of the rail so that she doesn’t snap it fully in two, fingers curling into biceps, instead.

Kara Zor-El can’t break herself with strength alone, after all.

“Well...I’ve known Clark for my whole life.” She argues, thoughtlessly, face cringing in what could thankfully be taken as pain, not a slip-up, because there’s some truth to that, as well, “Ever since I was thirteen, I mean.” A dusty swallow and when the door opens neither of them make a move to get out. “I get that you’re surprised I’m here, but I’m allowed to have a history and a past outside of CatCo that you don’t know everything about. Those…those things take time to learn.” Arms curl over a chest, slowly turning to face her, but not raising her gaze for a long moment, and when she does she watches Cat blink at whatever greets her. Kara’s not sure she wants to know what’s in her own eyes, not after this week. “I’m...” A useless breath, genuinely apologetic as she laughs, “I’m not even sure why I ran here to explain, anymore. You’ve obviously--you’re obviously--”

Cat’s fingers wrap around her wrist, stilling any form of explanation. The doors have long since closed and the _germaphobe_ hesitates long enough for Kara to sigh and reach into her back pocket where she’s stuffed a napkin (like she would get Lois croissants and not get herself some), idly wiping off the button with a roll of eyes before Cat jabs it, again, the doors opening in short command. A moment later, she’s being tugged out of the elevator and onto the busy streets of Metropolis without another word.

It’s been so long since she’s been here, that she’s not even sure where they’re heading, anymore, and they walk in silence for all of two minutes before Kara sucks in a sharp breath, closes her eyes, trusting Cat to guide her to the end of the Earth if she wanted, and whispers:

“Lois was the one who found me.”

“What?” Cat turns to look at her over her shoulder and it’s now that Kara realizes she’s had coffee in her hands this whole time, despite the fact that it’s starting to get later and later.

Cat always jokes that caffeine has the same effect on her that the tears of ‘mansplaining Republicans do’, after all—absolutely nothing.

“Lois and...Clark.” Kara gently says. “After the…” A breath because they’re still on an open street, not bothering to look around to see who might be listening, focusing on eyes that flash crimson and green before settling. “ _Fire._ ”

“The fire.” Cat repeats, turning on a heel, momentarily giving Kara her full attention. “ _They_ found you?”

“After my parents died. When I woke up, I was...I was wandering around in the fields, hurt but...but healing. I was...scared and lonely. I must have la--” Blonde strands fall in front of eyes when she shakes her head, hair tossled from her haste to get to the elevator, “The house that burned was by the Kent’s. Clark’s parents. And Lois and Clark were the ones that found me.”

“...oh.” Cat blinks, coffee barely lowering from her lips, eyes softening around the edges almost imperceptibly in the lights of a different city—in the city _Catherine_ was raised in that Kara knows so little of—Almost. _Almost._ It’s enough for Kara to be able to skim the line of a cheek, if she wanted, and the knowledge is enough to ease a bit of tension in shoulders regardless of the fact that Kara doesn’t do it. “That’s...new.”

Cat says it the same way she’d said that floating around in space for twenty-four years was _new_ and Kara, like all things with Catherine Grant, is learning to take this for what it is behind the fortress of green eyes.

“I couldn’t speak for weeks. Literally, I couldn’t.” A back finds purchase against the brick of a nearby building, quieter, “But I didn’t _want_ to for...” Shamefully admitting, “For months. And before I met my family--before I met Alex--Clark didn’t really know how to...talk to me, either.” She clears her throat, “But Lois...she was there. She was right by my side. He was kind of freaking out but she was always so _patient_...” Kara blinks a little bit at the memory, looking away, “She…Lois was the one that convinced Clark to keep me from the orphanage. To…help me find a home. To find the Danvers. I mean, I didn’t really...I didn’t understand that. What they were saying. Until much later.”

A shaky breath, looking down at her palms as she remembers the way Lois used to trace the constellations against her skin. She was wrong half of the time--not that Lois would admit to being wrong about anything--but she had spent so long in awe of Kal-El, looking up to him, she hadn’t realized until she was much older how much she had looked _over_ to Lois. How Lois had looked at her like she was just a scared, lonely girl, not a connection to a lost home—a burned bridge Kara still isn’t sure how to forge for the cousin she was supposed to protect.

“I...didn’t realize.” Cat’s voice is quieter, their shoulders brushing as she settles against the wall next to her.

“We don’t really talk, anymore. I mean…so much has changed, and we’re both so busy, but I write her. I write her every week. And this...this is a big step. This is a big thing. I came to explain because it’s not like I--” A breath, finally looking up into sympathetic eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t talk to you. It’s just...you’re still my boss. And there’s some things…there’s some things that…I’m not proud to admit it, but some things that little thirteen year old girl had to straighten out.”

“Kara, you don’t have to explain.” A raised hand between them, moving to pull away but Kara stops her, stepping closer, fingers gently catching a palm before Cat can go too far.

“I know I don’t. But I want to. Lois just...confirmed something for me, is all. That I’m making this choice for the right reasons. You can’t tell me what to do, Cat. Neither can Lois,” Kara admits, “And I’m not asking for anyone to _tell_ me, not anymore. I’m making my own decision. But she made me realize something.”

“Does that mean you finally have a decision?” Cat’s hand turns upwards and Kara’s fingers skim along a palm, tracing proper constellations against skin.

Constellations taught underneath knowing guidance in the twilight of night, an impervious nail skimming along the soft plains of white skin, knowing green eyes tracking every movement—soaking in knowledge like how Cat Grant soaks in everything else—and for once, Kara is certain someone in the world knows exactly what line of stars she’s tracing.

“Yes...I think so.” A hint of a laugh at Cat’s roll of the eyes--softer and sincere, “I know so. It feels right. It makes sense.”

“Then tell me later. During your actual planned reveal. _I,”_ Lips twitching, “Am off the clock.” A flick of Kara’s shoulder from the hand carrying a precious latte, “Someone told me I need to work on being happy. So I started with some personal time.”

“Who was that, a little bird?” Blue eyes are brighter underneath the afternoon sun, tugging Cat a little closer as people thoughtlessly pass by them on the street, the sounds of a foreign city falling underneath the sound of soft, consistent breath below her.

“A little plane.” There’s that same faintest twitch of an upwards smile as Cat allows Kara to guide her closer, once more settling next to her side but, this time, only a breath remains between them. It’s more beautiful than a photographed sunrise hours earlier, watching the way shoulders that had been so tense upstairs relax, just a little. “You only have a few hours left. I’m not sure how you’ll make it in time.”  

“I guess you’re right, I’d hate to miss my little plane back.”

Cat’s lips tip up at the edges, “Right.”

“Though that does raise the question of where my boss will be when I get back to National City.”

“Annoyed and answering your call.” Cat immediately provides, “Likely informing you that you could have had a _face meeting_ if you didn’t take so long.” Kara laughs, but it’s short-lived underneath the softness of the reality of it, because Cat Grant did not do impromptu trips and this was not on Eve’s calendar when she’d looked.

“Cat…” Kara raises hands to shoulders--dip down to elbows, gently curving upwards--hesitating for only a moment before she asks: “Why...are _you_ really here?”

“To subvert impending rumors of a merger.” Cat explains, simple and to the point, but the idea only raises more questions. And, in a way that makes Kara inexplicably nervous, Cat might hesitate before promising: “That’s the official reason. The personal reason is...more complicated. And has everything to do with the personal time.” Dark eyes flick upwards to where an office might be blocks away--to Lois or Clark or maybe an editor that’s aged as memories passed them both by. “I came to...see Perry. That wasn’t a lie.” A slim smile. “You're not the only one with an old mentor.” It sounds like a confession the way it’s whispered in that small sliver of space between them, “Yours is just far more attractive and knowledgeable. I’ll…” Fingers skim along a cheek and breath catches in the cool air between them, “Tell you soon.”

“Okay.” Kara leaves it at that, trusting, leaning forward to gently catch lips among a sea of people that could hardly care less, feeling Cat’s breath settle against her--fingers skim along her shoulder to bunch in a jacket. “I’m here.” It’s more of a promise than her lover likely knows, continuing because she also knows Cat won’t want to focus on it, however honest (and brief) the flicker of gratitude on her face might be, “I meant it, earlier.” Kara murmurs, instead, “I missed you.”

It’s better to just move onto something _else_ Cat doesn’t want to talk about, right?

“It’s been a few hours.” Cat’s chide is gentle and she makes no move to pull away, fingers barely curling in the fabric of her shoulder.

“It feels like longer than a few hours.” Kara confesses because falling for such a short amount of time feels like years and not sleeping for a week only stretches that further. The city is starting to blur into a streak of color and noise as she settles against breath, memorizing the feel of hands so close to her heart. “It’s felt like…so long since I—”

There aren’t words for the staggering memory of time in Kara’s mind, so she settles, instead, on repeating:

“I just missed you.”

“In that case I...missed you, too. Don’t,” One hand raises from bunched fabric to intently point a hair away from Kara’s scrunching, happy nose, “Do _not_ mention that I said that, or I’m not saying it, again.”

The slow smile is easy and quiet and makes an elevator feel far away, a content sigh on the cool evening air warming both of their lips, she knows, because Cat is so close.

“I’ll just stick to dancing around in joy about it when you’re not looking, then. Like usual because, you know, I’m not _Patrick Swayze_ ,” She repeats, “But Baby eventually wasn’t that bad. Give me a summer.”  

“Go ahead and make a fool of yourself, that hasn’t stopped you before.” Despite what appears to be her best efforts, Cat chuckles and Kara’s smile is dangerously loving, “As long as I don’t hear about it.”

“I’m going to dinner with Clark and Lois—”

“That will make it even harder to catch that plane. Where _do_ you find the time.” Cat drawls.

“—if you’d like to join?” A hint of hope lingers—a chance to show the softer side of Catherine Grant to her family, maybe—and the way Cat’s thumb gently caresses the edge of her cheek, she might even think about it. “Wait, where were we even going?”

“My hotel. Because I have to get ready for my own dinner with Perry. Not that hours of staring at the boring Lane over an entire bottle of wine--which we'd both need one of to even attempt playing nice over dinner-- isn’t a great selling point,” But Cat’s smiling even as her hand falls down, this time to brush fingers instead of curling around a wrist, guiding Kara down streets she doesn’t remember towards a hotel she could never afford, “Though you make a convincing argument. Which, once again, is really not an argument at all.”

“I don’t even have to try. I think you just like me.” Kara chirps, twining their fingers fully, not missing Cat’s eyeroll or her indulgent smile.

“At first I thought the confidence was cute--”

“Oh, you still think it’s cute.” Kara holds open the door for her to the hotel before a very confused bellhop can, Cat’s laugh punctuated by the staccato fall of her heels.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take that as a solid _yes_ , Ms. Grant.”

Kara follows her all the way to a hotel room--to a bed that’s larger than Kara’s apartment and a room that’s bigger than her entire building--to a bed she’s firmly deposited on, but not, for once, by need. An owlish blink focuses her surroundings, tugging off glasses to rub at tired eyes, the sound of the hotel muffled and…far away. She watches Cat flutter about the room in a ritual she’s used to, but doesn’t see nearly as much as she likes. Nodding towards a dress when two are held up in wordless question and stifling a yawn behind her hand even as Cat deposits an earring she’s slipped out of a hole in a hand Kara doesn’t remember opening. She tucks it in a hidden suit without a single word as she watches and waits, somehow (somewhen) sprawling back on the bed with a groan because that was a mistake.

Her muscles seize and then _ease_ in rapid fire throughout her body like a machine gun ricocheting, one vertebrae after the other falling into line in a stuttering cascade of dominoes as she groans and helplessly relaxes.

Another owlish blink towards the white, white, dust-less ceiling behind the glinting glass in front of still-blinking (slowly, slowly, slowly blinking) eyes.

The clouds aren’t this comfortable and Kara’s not certain she can get up.

Cat’s halfway through a story about Eve actually doing something competent--not that Cat Grant would ever say that to her face--when she pops her head out of the bathroom and sees Kara casually sprawled with a lazy smile, crossing the distance with a fond one of her own, turning around to offer a zipper.

Okay, she can get up for that.

A shiver dances up a curving spine when Kara trades her lips, instead, kissing up the length of a back, dipping away hair to brush lips along a shoulder--a neck--arms wrapping around a waist to bring a familiar warmth against her chest. And without a word, Catherine settles there, back easing into a chest like Kara’s had against the soft mattress behind them.

“Hmm…for the record, Kara…” Cat turns around, arms looping around a hunched neck, “The best part about this arrangement, other than the mind-boggling sex, of course…is the fact that you have unparalleled access to one of the best resources for life-experiences and fashion advice that you could possibly imagine: Me.” Cat elegantly toes on one heel, though she doesn’t lean far away from the loose embrace, “I obviously understand why you went to Lois given...disguised circumstances and, yes, this is a decision that you alone could make.” A beat. “But...if you ever do need to talk. Or need advice. Even in the event that I’m not in the same city, anymore…” She gestures vaguely to the window--to Metropolis--like it holds all of the secrets in the world when, really, it just holds the key to the largest secret of Kara’s life.

But there’s something more to it. Something more than just _we were in different cities, today_ and Kara finds her fingers clasping around a bracelet at the thought of it, brows barely knitting, searching Cat’s eyes.

“I know.” She breathes, but Cat’s adamant. “I do.”

“You can always reach out to me if you need it, Kara.”

But the sentiment is still warm, regardless of some hollow feeling bouncing behind closed eyelids, and Kara beams, reaching forward to kiss her amidst the skyscrapers of Metropolis she can’t see, like this, leaning into familiar warmth, glad to do it in the anonymity of a city that never cared much about Kara Danvers or Supergirl in a hotel that reminds her of silk sheets cities away. Cat shifts, uneven weight from one solitary heel clinging to her ankle, pressing Kara onto the bed until she flops backwards onto it, smiling as a familiar form lithely crawls upwards, careful not to wrinkle what Kara now understands is a very stunning, very form-fitting dress.

Black, of course. Cat Grant _would_ come back to Metropolis with the intent to kill.  

“Thank you, Catherine.” Kara smiles, sincere and gentle. “I know. And thank you.” A hum is the response, Cat’s thumb swiping over a lower lip before she kisses her, again, lingering and slow and leaving Kara so breathless that the Kryptonian’s not sure whether or not she actually came down from those clouds, after all.

“I really do have to go.” It sounds fortunately regretful and quiet and Kara leans up and kisses her, again, until that regret turns into a satisfied noise that’s anything _but_ satisfied, an insistent hand pressing on an unyielding chest, trying to push her back down onto the bed with determination alone. Eventually, Kara yields, but tugs her closer in compromise. “Stop that.” It’s _low—_ sultry and smooth and _low_ —but wonderfully, deliriously gruff, like there might be a hint of reluctance at the edges, “Or I’m never leaving.”

“That does _not_ sound like a bad thing.”

“Did I really say that I liked this side of you?” Cat laughs, the sound full of so much ease and gravel that Kara’s stomach clenches. “It’s dangerous. A practical menace to society.”

“Oh, I think you did. I’m particularly good with quotes, Ms. Grant.” Kara leans back up on elbows, kissing her again and this time Cat _curls_ , fingers pushing into hair before a distracted writer might have to physically wrench herself backwards, stumbling a little bit on one heel--with a very graceful recovery--in a way that makes Kara bite her lower lip to hide the swell of warmth in her chest.

“Zip.”

Kara does what she’s told, placing the softest of kisses against the back of a warm neck, back easing into a bed with a sigh.

“Come over after dinner, Kara.” It’s gentle and smiling but all Kara sees are bruised lips before Cat disappears into the bathroom, tongue darting over her own.

The bed is so large it might swallow her whole.

Kara’s a little nervous--hesitant--when she admits, waiting until she hears water running in the hopes that her lover might be too distracted to notice, “Have...I mentioned I haven’t really slept in almost…” Oh, Rao, “Eight days? I think. A…long time.”

Cat’s head pops out of the bathroom as she slides in new earrings, smirking, “We can make it a hard nine.” Kara gulps even before she hears Cat fully come out, familiar fingers sliding up knees to rest on clenching thighs. And she waits so patiently until Kara hesitantly looks up to meet her knowing gaze. “You’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you fly across the country when you haven’t even slept. You can barely walk when you _have_ slept.”

There’s a valiant attempt at a scoff in self-defense.

“I usually make it to most places without incident, I’ll have you know.” It’s a weak protest, eyes closing because this bed is _so soft_ and she can’t take the depth to green eyes highlighted underneath the soft glow of an eighty-star hotel.

The room service here is probably _amazing._

Do they leave a mint on the pillow, or just an entire tub of Andes?

(Is there even a mint fancier than Andes?)

“Let’s take a moment to remind you that your cover story for Fort Rozz was that a piece of the prison hit you in the head during it's ascent. And it was believable.” Kara doesn't ask how Cat knows the actual name of the very classified government file she’s been hinting at for the past week. Kara’s not sure she wants to know.

“That's just bad luck.”

“And usually anytime I see you fly it's followed by either explosions or an impressive amount of property damage.”

“That's just my _job.”_

“And how did you meet the gnome, again?”

“...by bumping into him.”

“And what happened to the railing in my balcony?”

“I...tripped.” Kara winces, eyes opening to focus on the ceiling.

“And how exactly did you say the Danvers’ kitchen was set on fire when yo--”

“Okay, okay. Do I need a lawyer for this conversation? Because Lucy will already be mad I didn't tell her I was in town.”

“No. No open court, for you, Lucy Lane would be on my side. You're taking my plane.”

A long moment, not wanting to break two rules so closely to her chest but wanting _so much_ to break them. Despite her better judgment, she asks: “Wouldn’t...that require me spending the night? And arriving to work with you?”  She leans back up on elbows and Kara watches Cat watch her for a long moment.

“Hmm...” Is all Cat says before she leans down and gently--so gently--kisses her and Kara catches her wrist before she can go too far. Curious eyes watch Kara carefully unhinge the clasp of a bracelet, wordlessly snapping it around her lover’s wrist and when Cat kisses her, again, it lingers. “I suppose it would. Come over after.” It’s a warm breath against parted lips, not bothering to wipe off the trace of lipstick left before Cat grabs her clutch on her way out the door.

An extra keycard sits knowingly on the table and teeth bite her lip when Cat winks and shuts the door behind her.

Kara flops back onto the bed and watches the way the light catches along the gold of an earring, a smile slowly spreading over her lips. She grabs the keycard before disappearing off of the balcony in a flash of smiling yellow light.

Dinner is full of laughter and memories and, fortunately, not a _single_ person being handcuffed or thrown through a wall or off of a bridge. Kara calls Alex to check in—calls Eliza to see about cashing in her raincheck of lunch Sunday (Saturdays, after all, are reserved for a twelve-year old across the country)—and when Kara calls Cat a minute before her deadline, it’s on its last ring before a hasty reply of—

_Hotel, Kara. Later._

—causes the faintest hint of hesitation, the line only staying open for one more moment (likely long enough for anything pressing) before clicking off.

Hesitation that straightens her shoulders three hours later, pausing outside of a door, eyes having to close and _concentrate_ to hear the familiar beat of a heart inside.

It’s the first time Kara’s come close to a bed in weeks without a fight of some kind weighing down her shoulders, but instead of setting down on a balcony—instead of propping open a window that should have been closed or toeing the lines of glass outside of an office—Kara raises her hand to knock underneath the numbers of a door she was certain to memorize every single detail possible of, hoping it sounds confident over the hesitancy clogging her chest.

Not that a knock can sound like anything other than knocking. Probably. If it could, Kara would be likely to nervously do it and even more likely nervously do it outside of Cat’s door, one of these days.

It only takes a few seconds before she’s greeted by raised eyebrows, Kara’s fingers tucking up a keycard between them before Cat can get out whatever sarcastic remark is sure to be on the edge of parted lips.

“Cat, this is the last chance to bow ou—”

“I’m surprised you’re being thoughtless enough to give me a chance to rethink.”

Kara shuffles—breathes—but doesn’t back down. Doesn’t hesitate. “I…wanted to be invited in.”

“That’s what the keycard was for.” Cat points out, voice dry but something catches at the end of it like a stick thrust through the spoke of a bike when Kara hesitantly looks up, trying to shake the vulnerability off of her own shoulders.

Kara’s chin dips further up, still, confidence lacing her breath deciding there’s no point to shaking off the vulnerability, leaning into it, instead, “So that you would have the chance…” Because vulnerability doesn’t necessarily mean wavering, her voice strong and certain despite the thick swallow in the back of her throat. Vulnerability, Kara swears to prove to Catherine Grant, someday, does not mean weakness. “…to think it over and ask me to come in, anyways. I…want to be invited in so that I can say yes.”

It must be only a second that passes, but it feels longer than the whole week has.

“You’re too good for your _own_ good, sometimes, Kara.” Cat’s tongue darts out over dry lips—pursing and then thinning—chin tipping up in either challenge or consideration, or maybe a match of Kara’s own confidence, “You should know better than to discuss something like this--not to second guess. I say things I mean and I don't want to--"

"I know."

"It was the first rule I gave you—a walking disaster—have you really not learned how to seize an opportunity, yet?”

“Oh, trust me, I know. On both accounts.” It’s a breathless, pained admission, but she doesn’t move. “Doing it, anyways.”

“That’s your forte, isn’t it? ‘ _Doing it, anyways’_ despite all common sense saying otherwise?”

“Apparently.” Gentler, “You deserve someone who discusses it, anyways. I just…this is a do something for the right reasons thing. There’s a perfectly good couch I can sleep on across the city. But I’d much rather sleep here with you. I’ll…I think I’ll actually sleep, here, with you. Not that I’m guilting you or—I just…you know what I’m trying to ask, don’t you, Catherine? I’m too tired to—”

And Kara feels it, now. The full effect of it. Like her knees are quaking and her breath is rattling and she’s not certain how much longer gravity can keep her down, at all—if she’ll float up into the sky or crumple in a heap by her lover’s feet.

 "Shush. I do, Kara. And don't ask me why now."

"I don't have to."

Cat’s lips twitch and Kara swears she sees it—sees that vulnerability reflected back at her—before a palm quietly reaches up between them. Brows knit, confused, before Kara nods, sifting out the earring from her pocket.

Another confused moment passes when Cat blinks down at it, fondly shaking her head.

“I wanted your hand.”

“Oh.” Kara offers a sheepish smile, giving her that, too, palm resting over the small gold of an earring, feeling a pulse quicken beneath her fingers. But, for once, she doesn’t apologize, stepping forward, not daring to look past Catherine to the threshold behind them.

And Cat, who never says anything she doesn’t mean—wouldn’t have offered the first if she hadn’t meant it, but Kara had to _know_ —takes great consideration before she quietly offers:

“Would you like to come inside, Kara?”

“Yes.” All the air of the world releases from Kara’s lips into the small space between them, a tired, relieved smile tucking up lips. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Catherine’s smile matches, tugging Kara closer, their lips brushing in a soft _hello_ before crossing the threshold, the door closing behind them with a definitive click.

The moment they’re inside knowing fingers gently slide glasses down a nose and there isn’t the whole world—there isn’t an influx of sensations mixing with the sounds—there’s just a murky outline of fading color before she blinks and there’s Catherine, carefully folding the glasses and setting them on the nearby nightstand, guiding shoulders that sag closer to the Earth’s core with each and every step towards that same bed, nodding down towards it.

Kara lays on the bed for a second time, back easing into the soft clouds—and there’s that machine gun of her vertebrae and that breathless _exhaustion_ and _contentment_ —and when she blinks, again, it’s to a fresh-faced Catherine at the edge of the bed, stirring at the feeling of hands tapping her ankles.

It takes longer than it should for Kara to realize what the tapping means, toeing off shoes but otherwise not stirring, breathless as she murmurs, “Oh, Rao, a real _bed_.” And she blinks, again as Catherine sits on top of her hips, silver frames settled on her nose, a hint of professionalism at the edge of squinting eyes.

There’s no makeup—a tank top and shorts, even, something relegated for weekends and Carter and singing 80's songs and intimacy that means more than _sex_ —but the set of a jaw screams _CEO_ , not _lover._

“So, Ms. Danvers…”

“Hmm?” An owlish blink, settling on the glasses and the look settled on tired features, a content smile spreading across her lips before they part, “Oh, is this later?”

The look on Cat’s face, a hint of amused and gentle, is decidedly less CEO.

“Can I…is it weird to ask to tell _you_ this? Not…” Kara’s never verbally acknowledged the boundaries because it feels like something protected in its silence, understood in the shadows of smiles between them, “I want to share this with… _you_. I want you to be the first person I tell.”

“Your boss _should_ be the first person you tell.” But Cat’s smile is softer underneath the moonlight—the curtains, Kara realizes, are half-drawn and the city’s landscape is open beyond such a small sliver of glass—sliding up hips to rest above her and Kara is endlessly grateful for the understanding when a finger traces down the line of her nose, a relieved smile tucking up Kara’s lips in response. The hum of the AC kicks on and it feels like it rumbles the Earth when warm breath dances against a lip. “I guess it’s not technically extending your deadline if you tell me, now, and we officially discuss it Monday. I’ll have Eve set up a meeting. So…how are you going to revolutionize CatCo and the world, Kara Danvers?”

Kara smiles and it slides so easily from her lips, now, with the weight of Cat pinning her down more effectively to the bed than it ever has, no longer scared of the constellation she’d traced against her palm hours later.

“I want to be a reporter.”

“Is that so.” Catherine looks the least bit surprised.

“You knew?” Kara leans a little up on her elbows, then, the shift of body taking an unphased smaller body with her. But Cat isn’t just unphased by the physical motion, gaze settled, and Kara just sighs, shaking her head, “Of course you knew.”

“You’re finally coming to the same conclusion the rest of the world is, darling, I’m Cat Grant. I’m all-knowing, all-seeing, and—”

“Fabulous?” Kara supplies, eyes bright and…relaxed, like the weight of the world has finally slid off her shoulders.

At least for tonight.

“I was going to say _always right_ , but that’s also true.” Cat smirks and a content hand raises up between them, fingers skimming along that smirking cheek until it softens into something unspoken and honest, between them, a nose dipping to skim along a palm before lips brush against a pulse. A pulse Cat likely feels jump underneath smiling lips.

“Thank you,” Kara breathes, “For being patient with me.”

“It’s the most infuriating part of being your mentor, so far.” Cat notes, “I was ready to throw you into the printing press, yesterday, out of hopes of a story imprinting itself on your mind. _Id Est_ ,” There’s that smirk again and Kara groans, “Force you into what you already knew instead of letting someone else take your credit.”

“Snapper told you?” She leans up, burying herself in a laughing shoulder.

“Snapper tells me everything.” Cat’s fingers slide underneath a raised back to brush nails along the base of a scalp, a hum the content response. “But I happened to listen to that one first-hand. I was around the corner.” A beat, brows knitting in her own journalistic curiosity, “You didn’t hear me?”

“I wasn’t exactly focused on…listening.” The truth is, her senses have been dulling worse and worse, the more she’s stayed awake. It didn’t matter how much sunlight she drained into her body, earlier, she’s not human but, right now, she might be something close. “Well…” Kara sighs but can’t find it in herself to feel embarrassed, quoting the book that Lois might claim turned her into a writer. “In a closed society where everybody’s guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.”

“Oh, darling, for as staggeringly brilliant you are,” Cat hums in sympathy, leaning down to kiss smiling lips, “You have that in spades.”

Kara, exhausted and happy and sagging into a mattress of clouds with Catherine kissing her, only laughs.

Soon enough, they’ve both settled into bed and she understands Cat’s adamant argument immediately, that quiet, whispered breath of—

_I might like it too much_

\--lighting up breath in her chest. Their bodies sag into the clouds, Kara wordlessly taking up the side she knows is usually unoccupied, boldly wrapping an arm around a waist to bring Catherine closer. This? _This_ is not an opportunity she’ll squander.

Cat's body slowly eases back against her and Kara's whole life turns into a quiet, gentle electricity humming underneath skin. They fit in a way that feels almost deliriously natural because she had always thought those books--those movies and stories and tall-tales--all exaggerated the feeling of someone gently slotting like a missing puzzle piece against her quickened heart, but it seems like they undersold it.

Way undersold it.

Because there’s no word for the breath that tumbles out of lips before breasts press against rolling shoulders. There’s no word for the way her chest _aches_ to bury herself against the warmth against her like a soldier diving for a safe haven amidst a hail of _bullets_ at their back. There’s no word for the way Cat scoots just a hair backwards with her hips or raises her arm up underneath a pillow or turns _just so_ so that Kara’s body can fill the void left from the shifted position. And there’s certainly no word for the feeling of _safety_ that spreads through her chest, warm and wordless and selfishly _relaxing_ the moment she hears— _feels_ —both of their heartbeats fall into easy rhythm.

Kara’s whole body relaxes as she snuggles in closer--as she feels Cat's muscles all relax with her—nose skimming up a neck as she sighs.

This is what it’s like. This is what her mother had warned her of—had promised her—and the tales painted along the hills didn’t do an ounce of the feeling justice and Kara’s lucky she’s so close to sleep because a promise lingers on the edge of her tongue just as easy as the breath settles between them.

“This _is_ nice.” Cat hums, a quiet, sleepy grumble and Kara knows this isn't the first time she's held her, but it's the first time like _this._ Lips brush over the sensitive skin underneath an ear--a pulse in a neck--bury chastely in the dip of a shoulder, and Cat shuffles closer.

“Mmm.” Kara agrees, already sliding a knee between her, thoughtlessly seeking out every inch she’s allowed, tangling a mess of limbs. Cat twines their fingers over her breast—over a soft, beautiful heart—and guides knuckles to lips in a soft breath. “Could spend the rest of my life like this.” It's a thoughtless, happy grunt of contentment, and surprisingly, Catherine just smiles against her skin in favor of chiding her—or, worse, pulling away.

“Me too.” Catherine turns in the embrace and even though Kara can feel eyes on her, she doesn't open her own, happy to let Cat trace the lines of her face as she sinks further and further into the mattress. “We should convince Superman to come to National City more often if it keeps you this relaxed.”

A quiet laugh, eyes sleepily opening at that--to watch Catherine so lovingly smile up at her in a bed, sleep clinging to both of their throats as those fingers trace the line of her brow, hand ultimately falling down between them as they settle, Kara's arm loose around her waist and their legs fully tangled, now.

“Am I always that tense?” A hum of acknowledgement from Catherine is all Kara needs to know on that front. “Okay, operation Cousin Call. We could both write very strongly worded letters pleading our case.” Sleepy and thoughtful, “Or I'll threaten to tell everyone about changing his diapers.” Kara sleepily murmurs, eyes once more falling closed underneath the bird wing’s flutter of Catherine's wry chuckle.

The exhaustion grips her in the ice of an ocean’s unforgiving waters but a body warms her with a knowing hum.

Kara knows—she knows—she won’t have nightmares, tonight.

“Blackmailing family? I've taught you well.” Catherine's nose presses into the hollow of Kara's neck, yawning against a collarbone as she sighs. As her heartbeat calms and her breathing evens. “I really do…” A hum, fingers slackening but not falling away from her completely. “Love this side of you.”

“Mmm….”

It's anti-climactic--its simple and it's not long until they both fall asleep in each other's arms--but Kara sleeps soundly for the first time in _years_ and when her heartbeat and breath slows, Catherine’s knowingly slows to match it.

There is a word for it, isn't it? All of it--

Perfect,  _Ehrosh._

Perfect.

\--

**Rule #47. No sex on the same night as deadlines.**

Hastily scrawled in excitement, for once intentionally in _English_ on her own copy of this list, added:

**(Especially not for me! I’m a reporter now! :) )**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone has as many Kara/Mama!Lo feels as I do. Woops. Mix it in there with the Supercat feels like a nice little medley.


	11. Hotel Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I suppose we never did…get that weekend at the beach house.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone again for their overwhelming support. This is just a happy, happy place chapter (really 99.76% fluff) something for the 400+ kudos mark. 
> 
> That feels like a huge deal to me and I really just...I think you're all just swell, guys. Really. You're all the best. 
> 
> Kryptonian Translations at the end.
> 
> Please, as always, let me know what you think :)

Kara wakes up to a finger gently brushing down the ridge of her nose, a happy hum caught on the edge of a sigh. It's warm and cool and she can feel from the way her skin barely shivers, still exhausted but so content, that the sun hasn't risen, yet. But there’s still that _warmth_ in the welcome weight of something so familiar and sleepy arms thoughtlessly tug the warmth closer, nose wrinkling underneath that same finger as she does.

There's a faint, rumbling laugh, and when Kara owlishly blinks, all she sees for a moment is Catherine's soft smile before the rest of the world highlights her in framed tints of blue and gray and green. The world—the city; the hotel; their bed—fills in like a water colored paint by numbers behind a sea of brown and green and a smile, as unbiddenly genuine as it is small, slowly spreads across parting lips.

When she’d first come to Metropolis, it wasn’t by choice. Not much of her life until recently _had_ been by choice, really, but the city was a far-cry from the fields she’d crash-landed in.

When she had stumbled out of the pod dirt had sunk underneath cold bare feet and she had never felt a thing quite like it—the first thing in a string of things she’d never felt, before—and she had been so petrified that she would sink into that brown, mussy pool of brown mercury (she had never truly known pools of much else) and be lost forever. She was thirteen and alone save for the strong palm of a hand that felt more familiar than her scattered thoughts could take in, the scent of corn and wheat and grass sinking into her bones with a frantic, panting breath.

She’d struggled—or so she’s told—out of fear and disorientation. It had rained the night before (an unfamiliar scent clinging to that corn and grass and mud) and fog had covered their ankles when Kara had frantically looked up to covered blue eyes, sweat staining her unknown cousin’s brow from the exertion of holding her. She hadn’t learned how to fight, then (just how to dance and sing and think and _run_ ) but she still had taken him down into the dirt with her in a scrappy little way that might have destined her to always be a Danvers, through and through, struggling with him in the mud to run away.

The story, every time Kal-El tells it, gets more and more dramatic, but Kara’s first memories are simple and tinted by an ever-lasting, pressing feeling against her chest—an anxious, restless weight—and everytime she thinks of it, it takes her a moment to remember how to breathe.

All she remembers was Kal-El’s frightened voice booming, hands raising up to her shoulders to hold her close—to bring her ear to his heart, a trait shared by their family line—

**_"Zha—"_ **

Was the first word he ever said to her—the first word they ever shared.

She’d stopped immediately, brows furrowing because his accent had been as thick and sloppy as the dirt staining his cheeks and she whispered back and the memory of him is like a skyscraper, mussed dark locks curling like tendrils into the sky as he eclipsed the moon’s light—

**_"Zha-ehd? Kryptahnium?"_ **

_He’d blinked at her response._

**_"Like me?"_ **

_She’d tried interlac next, stumbling back, eyes frantic as they took in the world--there was so much of it; so much--but when enough light tumbled over her house’s symbol she had nearly been brought to her knees a second time in the dirt outside of a farm, hands tracing the symbol with a feverish gasp. But he hadn’t seemed to understand, so she tried again--_

**_"Kh ahp nahzhgehn khap"_ **

_But he just stared so blankly, apologizing--_

_She had thought he wore their crest, so he must know--  
_

**_"Nim-ta Kal-El? Nim-ta Kal-El?"_ **

He just kept apologizing and apologizing through tears (she didn’t understand the words, but she understood the tone) as he tried to hold her; as his arms wrapped around her sagging, exhausted, petrified form and all Kara remembers is that he’d lifted her hand to his heart, his loud-- _loud_ \--voice rumbling through the sound of silence in the fields.

_“I am Kal-El.” He’d said, but she hadn’t understood. “I am Kal-El.” He promised and she was so tired, so small against his chest, and wept until she felt the sun on her small shoulders, trembling any moment her cousin had even hoped to move away from her._

Waking up from stasis wasn’t pleasant, but Kara doesn’t remember it very well—doesn’t remember the Kents or much after those first few moments with Kal—so much of those first moments were a whirlwind of panic and foreign sensations; sounds she couldn’t place and smells she hadn’t seen and for as far as her eyes could see, _stars_ up above. But she hadn’t understood _overwhelming_ until Clark had hefted her up onto his shoulders in Metropolis.

_The buildings were as tall as they were in Argo, but there were so **many** of them, painted like charcoal-washed canvases in grays over what might have been whites in a past life. She had never seen so much gray—steel, she later learned—and her lungs filled with gas from the cars and the noises threatened to shove down her shoulders until she found herself a home in the ground. It was all so loud—so piercing—nothing like their quiet prosceniums and streets and there were so many people (all speaking this **English** ) that Kara had buried herself into Clark’s side so relentlessly that she had nearly knocked him over the moment they had set down in an alley._

_The only time she had been calm, at all, those first few days, after all, had been when they were flying, and that had been the only way Clark could take her anywhere._

_Lois’ hand had nervously curled over her shoulder as Kara panted into his stomach but when Clark tipped her chin up, the sun highlighted his hair in a halo and the shadows of his blue eyes cast a watercolor all on their own. Kara hadn’t known what painting was here, yet, but if she had, she would have touched the lines of his cheeks in hues of the city around her to memorize the kindness there. Her heart had settled underneath the roaring inferno of noise around her as Clark pointed up towards the sun—_

_“ **See?”**_

_He had said in English, a young mind struggling to catch up, to understand, and she finally settled more on his eyes than on their crest, his shirt a half-shrugged mess on his shoulders in an attempt to cover blue in case any passerby had looked into the alley._

_“What...see?” Kara had tried back, tongue clumsy and throat tight, fingers curling so tightly in the fray of his jacket that it ripped at the seams. It had been the fifth of them in the past three days that she’d torn with restless, anxious nails, and she had heard from Lois’ murmurs that she wouldn’t understand much later that Clark was running out of shirts._

_“Not scary. Sol—Sol, like Rao.”_

_“...Rao?” She swallowed and followed his finger to the sun—to the bright, yellow light—fingers relaxing a little when Lois had kneeled down behind them, whispering in her ear._

_“Life.” Lois had said, “Happy. Warm. The whole city, Kara—like Rao. Warm, see? Warm. Sun.”_

_“Rao.” She swallowed, not sure why there was so much moisture in Lois’ eyes—in her smile—because there was so much **water** on Earth. There was so much water everywhere that the people themselves were filling to the brim with it. Turning back up towards Kal-El, who was too tall for his jaw and his smile. “Life…?” _

_She tasted the word and rushed out into the city, listening to the laughter and the smiles—like Lois—and painting the tall buildings with her thumbs. She listened to the cars screech and the horns and let the smells fill her lungs. She danced along the puddles of water (so much **water!** ) from two days before and ran through the alleys, listening to the noise bear down her shoulders. She ran so far and saw so much and eventually Kal-El had laughed, chasing after her and dancing hands up her sides and tucking her back up on his shoulders with a squeal of laughter from young, breathless lips as she painted the sky and closed her eyes and felt Sol’s kiss, truly, for the first time. _

_“Life!” She’d screamed, her first real Earth-word, laughing amidst a crowd of people that gave her odd, odd looks, all of them fascinating and human and underneath her and Kal-El’s protection. Life she would protect._

It had all been so overwhelming to her, then. So many sounds and sights and noises and she never truly appreciated the city for what it was—not really—but she appreciates it, now. Older ears take in the faint sound of the city painting a soft undertone to the hum of a hotel’s AC—she can hear a child laugh two floors down, rebellious and awake when the sun is not—she can hear, if she strains, a bellhop ring up the floor, fingers itching for a cigarette as he flicks and unflicks his lighter in the elevator. She can hear the city—can hear the wonder of it—cool but present even without Sol’s beams gracing its features, muted and quiet and not nearly as overwhelming as it used to be.

Life.

And when she sucks in a slow, content breath, she can hear the softest heartbeat—strong; quicker than her sister’s but just as true—barely above listening ears. Can hear the breath from Catherine’s lips as it expels in a lazy smile—can hear the way her hair dances from the soft expulsion of air, fluttering underneath the dancing city lights.

She hears it and she sees it—the world—and then opens her eyes and sees the world, entirely, in a soft smile above dancing, dark eyes. Her world.

Metropolis isn’t scary, anymore—Metropolis paints Catherine Grant’s bare shoulders in life, and Kara has never been so selfishly glad to survive as this moment.

“You look miles away.” Cat’s voice is gentle and that finger has started to trace the lines of knit brows—of a faint crease that’s set between them—before it once more dips down a nose, skimming along lips that can’t help but part in greeting to such a knowing touch. “Head up in those stars?”

“It’s been a while,” It’s a rasp, full of sleep but _content_ , hands sliding up hips—underneath the edge of a tank top to curve around shoulders—fingers brushing in their own familiarity along skin and it’s no small, wonderful thing that Catherine leans down into her. “Since I’ve stayed in Metropolis. I was just...remembering, is all.”

Cat hums, maybe doing some remembering of her own. “You don’t visit that best friend of yours?”

Kara’s lips twitch, “About as often as he does me. I should visit more. I try to stop by, every time I go to Midvale—”

“Where Eliza lives.” Cat recalls, finger skimming down to a chin—to her neck—dipping down along a clavicle underneath an unbuttoned shirt that wasn’t discarded as quickly as their inhibitions, the night before.

“Who I should visit more, too.” Kara nods, a little regretful, one hand slipping out from underneath the warmth of fabric to twine with the bright, moonlit hand tracing the line of her bone, raising a now-twined pair up to rest against her heart with a happy sigh. Over a suit and skin, both.

“We all have reasons to avoid our little Metropolis, don’t we? Very Chekhovian.”

It couldn’t be more perfect if the sun had painted Catherine’s hair and it’s almost as overwhelming as her first footsteps into Metropolis had been, the sudden noise that erupts in Kara’s throat—not loud or bombastic or unbearable, but undeniably _overwhelming_ —because she has to physically grate her teeth from breaking the last barrier courageously standing up as a rule between them, at all.

She wants to _tell her._

Because it’s not the sun that paints Catherine’s hair—it’s the dim lights of a sleeping Metropolis, the city Kara abandoned (or would never admit, was abandoned by) in favor of a normal life. It’s the way Catherine’s hair, sleep tousled and unstyled, falls in between them both like a waterfall of concessions. It’s those beautiful hazel eyes, unlined and soft in that dim Metropolitan light, something close to rested and content. It’s the way she doesn’t ask lover to explain because Kara’s fairly certain she knows why Catherine avoids Metropolis, too.

The most rebellious, awake part of Kara hates that Catherine was right—that Kara isn’t sure she’ll know how to sleep, again, without remembering what it felt like to wake up just like this.

The most sincere, sleepy part of herself—which is the overwhelming majority, still exhausted and content and not nearly as pragmatic as her lover—is just _happy_.

And utterly, shamelessly in love.

“The sun isn't up.” Kara murmurs, almost accusatory, tugging Catherine closer and she’s so delightfully allowed to do it, bodies molding. A hand smooths up an abdomen to rest below a breast, curling around a side.

“That would be because it's 3 AM.” Cat hums, voice rough with sleep, leaning over to kiss her, lingering and quiet. “I have to leave in order to catch my plane, and you're coming with me.”

“Hmm or...we could just _not_ leave.” Kara helpfully argues, nose burying itself in a warm, warm neck. Because she still is tired, and this is still…wonderful. “Go back to sleep.” Her breath must heat Cat's skin, shoulders rolling into it in a way that makes Kara sleepily, happily smile.

“Hmm...tempting.” Fingers are brushing through Kara's hair, holding her close against her chest and Kara's arms just wrap tighter around her, grumbling something faint as she holds her, eyelashes fluttering against skin. “Very tempting.”

“Fly us back later.” An aching body sags because it's been _days_ and this is so warm. So perfect.

“She says like I can just order a plane—”

“It's a private jet. _Your_ private jet.” The argument is quiet, smiling at the sound of Catherine's laughter, rolling her lover onto her back with a happy hum, pinning her down to the bed with her weight. There’s not a single ounce of fight between them. “And you are talking too much for us to be sleeping.”

“Because we should not be sleeping.”

“Sleep in with me.” Kara tries again, softer, eyes as heavy as her body. “I'll fly you back, myself.”

Cat's teeth bite at a lip, apparently at least contemplating it when arms snake around a neck and Kara can’t help but kiss her. “I'm flying you back in a plane so that you're not flying and your suggested solution is to fly us both?”

“I would never let anything happen to you.” Gentle, “Stay with me.”

Catherine's fingers brush along cheeks as she leans up to kiss her, lingering and thoughtful in the silence of flickering city lights that settles along the wrinkled fabric of a button-up.

“That sounds…” Her breath collapses in on itself from the force of her smile, something Kara can see from a muted light that her eyes have adjusted to, darkness held at bay from the easiness of it. It brightens up the whole dark, dark hotel room and Kara kisses her, again. It feels a whole hell of a lot like victory does. “Nice.”

“Because it will be. Very nice.” A shake of the head, realizing— “Unless Carter--”

“Is staying with his father for an impromptu _baseball_ trip so that I could come to Metropolis. Something Carter will likely have no interest in save for trying to bond with his father. He’s staying the weekend.” Grumbling, like this is something Cat has just realized and relegated herself to, “I’m going to be hearing baseball facts for the next five weeks.”

“So stay.” Kara kisses her again, leaning up on elbows to slot Cat closer to her chest. “Make second base.”

“Oh, sports metaphors,” It’s a practical purr despite the laugh, “I believe it’s _‘get to’_ second base...and you do realize that’s just a euphemism for getting hot and heavy like two teenagers in the back of a car at somewhere ridiculous like a drive-thru or prom, right?”

“Teenagers have sex in fast food drive-thru’s?” Kara’s brows knit, maybe a little too tired, still, to keep up with this conversation. She can understand trying to make the best of both worlds but, really, even she wouldn’t go that far.

“God, you’re young. Not that kind of drive-thru. My _point_ , was what’s next, give me your Supergirl varsity jacket?”

“If I had a varsity jacket—I never did the sport thing, remember—I’d give it to you in a second. Although I’m pretty sure you’d never wear it.” Kara runs fingers up a stomach, sneaking underneath the fabric of a tanktop to trace a happy hum along clenching muscles in twirling circles and thoughtless symbols. An errant thumb traces her house’s sigil underneath a belly-button. “Stay. This isn’t me pushing. I know it sounds like pushing, but I—”

“Oh, it’s pushing.” Cat curtails her, but that smile (a little softer) returns, hand skimming up the blue of a suit Kara hadn’t had the mind to take off, the night before, muscles trembling underneath the weight of it. “But I’m the one who invited you here in the first place, wasn’t I?”

“And have every right to kick me out. But I wish you wouldn—” Kara sucks in a sharp breath, sincere however exhausted she is, the gentle moment between them broken by a noise that pierces through her chest, a shrill reminder underneath the hum of the AC and the well-insulated walls. She can ignore the noises of everyone else throughout the hotel—can ignore the streets or the cars—and focus on Catherine’s breath and the thrum of her heart, but it’s more difficult to ignore this, even if she doesn’t drop a familiar gaze.

Because Kara hears a siren in the distance, faint and true, and it straightens her shoulders when she forces herself to ease out that slow breath before it can freeze, something helped by the feeling of fingers in her hair as Catherine leans up and wordlessly kisses her.

Catherine can't hear it—shouldn’t be able to—but the tense of Kara’s spine must showcase enough for her to lean back and brush lips over the rise of a shoulder, over the blue of a suit, and then another kiss over the small exposed skin of a collarbone. “It’s his city.” Cat reminds, “Let him take one for the team.”

“But, I…” Her breath quivers as she swallows, rough and patchy, fingers quivering as they curl into shoulders because it feels so selfish, to be so happy. It is. Settling on the frail, almost betraying notion, admitting: “I want to sleep. I _want_ to sleep. I do. But maybe you’re right, maybe we should—”

She’s slept, but she hasn’t slept enough, and her powers will be there, but her mind...her mind is right here, sagging and tired and so desperate to be content.

“So sleep, _Mon oissilon_.” Catherine's nose nuzzles into a craning neck and Kara is too floored by the possibility of staying at all to be surprised that Cat isn't pushing her to go.

“Sleep?” It’s more vulnerable in its rasp than it should be and she hears it—hears Catherine’s heart kick up a few beats as the siren disappears into the foggy distance of a city that isn’t hers.

“Sleep.” The repetition is gentler, their eyes meeting as Kara wishes the tremble of her chin to steel itself into something stronger than the framework of the cage over her heart. It’s starting to sound like the insistent, consuming beat of that drum in _Jumanji_ until both of those fingers move down to a zipper—to the place to unbind Kara from a suit that sticks to her skin—before sliding it up and wordlessly tugging at the hem of it until weary, strong arms raise above their heads. And just like that, a rolling chill of blue slides over a chin, hair falling in curls about shoulders and body sagging into white, pristine, rumpled sheets, free from the weight of it. Their eyes meet again when the noise of it falling to the floor—the heavy stitch of an embossed crest hitting carpet—meets Kara’s ears.

“Don’t...don’t you think I should—” It’s the last, lingering hesitancy she has, teeth biting that trembling lip until she’s kissed, again, soft and breathless.

The responsibility of the world doesn’t just stop because it’s crumpled by their bedside but the way their lips part remind Kara that she has other responsibilities, as well.

Hands slide down to her hips, freeing Kara of pants and layered red and she sighs against the cool of the room, the tremble of her back making way to contentment, the vulnerability lacing with something akin to _safety_ when Catherine kisses her, again, Kara’s fingers sliding underneath a tanktop and dragging upwards until the twinkling lights of Metropolis dance along exposed skin.

“I'm staying.” Cat promises in her ear and Kara swallows as she hooks fingers underneath shorts, next, until they’ve made a pile of their second skins by the bed, hiding her gaze for only a moment until the same fingers that undressed her tuck up a chin. “You convinced me with an argument that, again, wasn’t much of an argument, at all. But I’m staying. So should you, for the rest of the night.”

“So I _am_ that tense.” Kara breathes out the revelation of a string never tied at the end, quaking at the edge, and Catherine’s breathless laugh buries in her neck as she lovingly— _lovingly_ , Kara knows—eases her down.

“Normally, I could strike a match off your spine, Kara.”

“Mmm…” Clark has had a near lifetime of nights like this with Lois that it will surely interrupt, but Kara only has this—she knows she’ll only have this—and she selfishly reaches up to pull Catherine closer, body settling underneath her as she listens to a heartbeat spike and then settle just like their tangled limbs. “Thank you for staying.”

“You weren’t the only person,” Catherine swallows like the weight of the world is pressed against her throat and Kara has to pull back to see her eyes—to see the endless sincerity to them, new and dizzying and open—and maybe she’s finally taught Cat that vulnerability isn’t such a weakness, after all, as she brushes the hair from her lover’s eyes. “That promised always, when it came to being here for you. Although I’m sure you were far too distracted to pay attention to that little detail, weren’t you? You’re obviously just going to go jump out of the window and run yourself into an early grave if someone doesn’t monitor you.” She doesn’t point out there’s a balcony and wouldn’t be much of a reason to jump out of the window—it’s an excuse Kara doesn’t mind letting Cat have when her smile is that soft. “One night won’t kill us—we’re too strong for that.”

“No, but it will make it a lot harder.” Kara wets her lips, shoulders sagging into those wonderful clouds instead of shrugging, not sure why she’s arguing against her own lost cause. “Not that _I_ really care about that. If either of us wanted easy, we wouldn’t be here. And, really, we didn’t even sleep the whole night, so we’re making it just as hard as it was before.”

“Ever the optimist.” Cat’s smile is indulgent and that’s all they discuss about it—all they might need to discuss about it—as Kara once more settles into the bed, sheets warm underneath her skin, her own smile softening as Cat once more settles against her, too, feeling the tension slowly melt from her spine the longer the siren stays mute.

Cat’s warmer than the sheets, naked and soft and familiar, and when their bodies slot together this time, Kara can’t help it—

“ _Catherine_.” A soft, relaxing sigh, arm wrapping around shoulders as she brushes a kiss over a temple, mumbling it into warm skin and the early twilight air settling between them, Catherine’s fingers brushing through hair until both of their eyes lazily meet, not bothering to hide the depth on her tongue. “Thank you—” And she opens her mouth, might even dare—

“No declarations.” She feels Catherine tense a little—a breath of a noise tumble on the edge of her teeth—but she sags into the bed with her, sleepily chiding: “And before you try, it still counts as breaking the rule if you say it in another language, Kara.”

“Or,” It’s sing-song, catching Cat’s hand before it can sleepily shove at her shoulder, smiling at the noise of surprise between them when she tugs her fully on top of her, bodies easing together as their skin molds in familiarity. “It’s a very good loophole. I can say it in _Dzongkha_ if it—”

If those green eyes—so green, in the hotel, when they were so brown in the streets—weren’t so bright, Kara might be worried at the look she gets, a full hand covering Kara’s mouth like she might be able to kidnap the words with skin and hide them somewhere they both might not find them.

“You’re impossible.” The hand lowers and Catherine’s fingers continue brushing through her hair as Kara holds her and eventually, that heartbeat changes from a gong to the softest flick of a xylophone in quiet, even notes. Grumbling near the edge of sleep because this week has likely taken a toll on a CEO’s shoulders, as well and they deserve a full night’s rest. “ _Dzongkha._ ” A scoff of a rumbling, sleepy noise.

“Impossible, or not, Catherine.” Kara whispers in promise when her lover falls back asleep, certain she won’t wake to glower or, worse, look hopeful enough that Kara might forget there were ever rules at all. “I’m yours.”

And eventually Kara falls back asleep herself, the conflict melting away into peace as Catherine settles on top of her, both of them happy to avoid the world just for today, the night air of a city Kara hasn’t truly missed trapped outside a pane of glass and the cool AC lulling them into a warm cocoon of tangled limbs.

The sky is warm as she flies through it, ocean reflecting in it above and when she dances her fingers through the clouds she can see the West Hills shine through them, Rao painting them in shades of red, the ocean below thrashing about until it becomes a long stream of Mercury. Long lines of spun silk twirling like a jet’s trail around her heels. When Kara touches the clouds, she feels like she’s running her fingers along Catherine’s cheeks and can hear her mother’s voice smile against her shoulder, flying beside her—always flying beside her, never lost.

_See, Little One--_

It’s a mix of English and her native tongue stroking along the red beams of Rao and when Kara pushes her fingers further into the clouds, she can feel Catherine’s lips against her own, her mother’s hand falling down to her back—

_It’s like Rao, himself—_

But the sun is setting and she turns to her mother, smiling with Catherine at her shoulder, now, knowing it will rise.

_As the sun sets—_

Kara.

She wants to tell her mother, she wants to show her mother—

_\--it will rise—_

“—own decision.”

The clouds and the mercury and her mother fade, but when Kara blinks Catherine’s eyes are still there, darkness still at her back, and consciousness slowly seeps through fog because she doesn’t think she’s slept long. Was she sleeping? There’s a weight along her back and fingers brushing along the hair by her shoulder and it’s so warm that Sol must be wrapping them in blankets, but just barely. When she breathes in it smells like coffee and ink, but no perfume—just… _Catherine_ , a second slow breath confirms—and Kara thoughtlessly curls tighter into the warmth of a body and the pillow she’s claimed as her own on this large bed, mind lagging too far behind to realize she’s woken up, at all.

“I think,” Cat’s voice isn’t sad or anxious as she whispers along the shell of an ear, warm and sinfully _patient_ —like, for once, they might have all the time in the world—and Kara focuses more on that familiar voice, now, easing her back into arms that have wrapped around her middle. So warm—like the clouds—like the sun must have felt on the hills and Kara lets out a hum of a grumble, eyes struggling to blink underneath the weight of sleep, chin tipping backward. Somehow, they’d changed positions on the bed, a warm body wrapped around her back, and Kara— “I think, Kara…” In the dim light of night in an unfamiliar city, shadows hold up the weight of an unusually timid, shy smile in dark lines and a cloud must pass over the moon because the light flickers over eyes.

Cat seems to suck in a breath with this decision of hers—the word rolls around a struggling brain—and Kara leans up to curve fingers over wrists to support her with a brush of thumbs along a quick pulse before tugging a curling body closer, snuggling back into the bed, dragging Catherine along with her.

“Hmm?”

Her lover’s voice has quivered at the edges from restraint, weighed down by something imperceivably _large_ these past few weeks but it’s free, now, and the lilt of her happy, content voice sounds like a bird’s wings fluttering through the night sky. Lips brush so lovingly over Kara’s temple as her body molds once more against her that Kara can’t breathe, “That I’m going to stay, for a while.”

Kara doesn’t understand what it means—doesn’t understand the weight (or weightlessness, given Cat’s easy smile) of it—but finds herself releasing a shuddering breath, anyways, like some part of her understands _exactly_ what it might mean. She smiles, bright and quiet as she turns fully around, fingers raising from wrists to cup Cat’s cheeks.

“Good.” She decides even though she’s not sure where Cat could have been going but, given Cat isn’t likely to tell her, maybe she doesn’t want to find out, “I think I’d like that.”

“Is that so?” Catherine hums but there it is—that... _something_ in her eyes, beautiful and unspoken—and Kara just leans up to kiss her smile.

“I think I’d like that a lot, Catherine.”

Cat blinks moisture away and Kara knows better than to comment on it, shifting so that Cat can rearrange herself, sliding down to rest on her chest, over a beating, happy heart, both of them easing into the embrace and the bed. “I’m sure you would.”

“Well, you know me pretty well.” Kara hums, lips brushing over the crown of a head as she wraps arms around a familiar waist—as she breathes her in, “And whenever you want to tell me…” Kara isn’t even sure how to voice it, the un-voiceable, “I’ll be right here, waiting to listen.” Another hum, eyes once more closing, nose falling to a neck as she imagines that dream—imagines fingers curving along the clouds with Catherine at her front, “Can we sleep now? Again, I mean. Back to the sleeping.”

The responding laugh is quiet—easy—and when Kara squints one eye to look at her, Cat miraculously nods and shuts her own in response, but the soft smile seems worth waking up a thousand times, alone. 

It makes it worth the thousands of times she  _has_ woken up alone.

The third time Kara wakes up, it’s to the feeling of Catherine gently skimming a finger down her cheek, pleasantly on top of her, and Kara’s arms wrap entirely around her, this time. The sun is up, now, and it seems Cat’s had the foresight (and that’s telling more than anything else, isn’t it?) to gently tug open the curtains to let it spill in, warming the bed and heating Kara’s skin like smooth silk curling around her shoulders. She knows for a fact that Catherine has not slept past five AM in over twenty years, so when curious eyes flick over to the clock and settle back on a smiling face, her sleepy, surprised blink is question enough.

It's eleven.

“I slept until ten.” Catherine hums—almost victorious, like she’s done the impossible—voice velvet even underneath the weight of the small, happy smile that spreads across her lips, Kara’s fingers slowly dancing along sides, pushing up to curve along skin--along an arching back up to rolling shoulder blades as Cat stretches and then, ultimately, splays over Kara’s chest, head falling to her heart with a sigh. “And I made my own decision.” And it almost seems like a trick of the light, the way Cat’s teeth tuck at her lower lip—the way she raises up to above Kara’s lips and pecks them with such simple adoration—the way she smiles and absorbs all of the sunlight in the room like the most beautiful painting Kara’s ever seen. Like a muted, beautiful watercolor of a prayer, quiet and happy and hair mussed with more sleep than either of them have likely had in…well, months.

Something tells her it’s a different decision than last night, a faint memory fluttering against the edge of her mind like Catherine’s voice had against the shell of her ear a few hours ago.

“You did?” Kara croaks, clearing her throat through the sleep to bring her closer, rolling them over on the bed so that she’s on top of her and Cat’s smile might be here to stay, nodding into the hotel’s over-fluffed, expensive pillows as her hair billows around them. “Am I supposed to start guessing?”

“No.” Cat chuckles, fingers skimming up Kara’s cheeks and she feels like she’s being _painted_ there’s so much reverence there and she has to swallow back the words dangerously on the edge of her lips—is it always going to be like this, now?—before she sits up, “Shower, room service, and then I’ll tell you.”

“Oh, you’re right, that is infuriating.” Kara pouts.

“A taste of your own medicine.” Catherine decides to wipe away that pout with her smirking lips, instead, and Kara suddenly doesn’t mind anymore, deepening the kiss—pushing her lover down onto the bed with a happy noise. But then Catherine’s pulling away, eyes slitting like she’s still bargaining terms, “No singing in the shower.”

“Oh, Cat, I can’t promise that.” The pout is back—and it’s acceptable, really, given the terms. “I’m not capable.” Not when she’s happy. Insistent fingers tangle with a familiar pair, raising them up to her heart in a sincere plea. “You don’t like me serenading you?” Cat’s eyes linger reluctantly and Kara beams because she realizes from just how sour Cat truly looks that it’s the opposite. “Oh my God, you like it.”

“Shut up.”

“How can I when you _like me_ ,” Kara teases for the thousandth time this week, no less happy and joyous as she beams and Cat looks ready to shove her out of the bed, but just presses her hand fully against a strong Kryptonian heart, instead. “You like me _crooning to you—"_

“I really was not planning to reveal that little weakness.”

“Too late.” Kara leans forward, pecking her lips, deciding: “I’ll just have to make you a mix-tape.”

“Oh my God.”

“What, would you rather I stand outside of your window with a boombox? Carter might get jealous. But I’ll do it.” Kara teases and Catherine throws half of the comforter at her when Kara starts singing _Time After Time_ , shoulders shaking from easy laughter underneath the rustled fabric, tugging it off and shouting at Cat’s retreating form, eyes falling much lower as she watches her saunter towards the bathroom. “Hey, a mix-tape is more discreet!”

The sound of running water sounds through the hotel and Kara is about to happily follow when her stomach growls loud enough for Cat to slowly—slowly—lean out of the bathroom with a raising, singular eyebrow.

It’s more of an effective silencer than the comforter ever could have been, cheeks flaming red. 

“Did someone say room service?” Kara yelps, already tucking up the menu because she has proper priorities, blinking at the prices because she’s not even sure she can afford the _water here_. “Or.” It’s an overly-excitable chirp and Kara winces the moment her own voice hits her ears, “I can...I can just—” Cat snaps up the menu from her hands with both eyebrows raised, now.

“Stop looking like you’re going to wet the bed. You know you can’t afford it, why did you bother looking?”

“Well—I— _well,_ ” Kara sputters, trying to sound a little righteous as a hint of a manic laugh leaves her lips, “I _can’t_ afford it, that’s kind of the point of me looking like I’m going to wet the be—”

“I’m paying.”

“Cat, even you can’t afford to buy everything on the menu and I’m going to _need_ everything on the menu.” Kara teases.

“Kara, I can afford to buy the fucking hotel, if I wanted.” Cat challenges right back.

“Oh, you’re looking to go into hospitality, Ms. Grant?” Arms wrap around a waist, immediately tugging a laughing form up and into her before she dips a smiling mouth, lips nipping at a stomach, feeling well-rested muscles flex underneath her as she kisses up between breasts, marveling at the sound of breath catching underneath her tongue.

“Well I’m putting up with you, aren’t I?” Cat quips and Kara’s mouth opens to retort—

Her stomach growls again, louder and almost furious, and she can feel Catherine’s laughter against her lips.

“If we weren’t in Metropolis, I would think that was an earthquake.” Kara is about to protest a second time when Cat pushes her onto the bed, reaching upwards to grab the phone and in three quick presses of her fingers it’s cemented—there’s no one more beautiful on this entire planet. On any planet. “Yes, this is Cat Grant. Oh, honestly, don’t start babbling—one of everything from the menu, please. I don’t care that this is concierge, get it done.”

The phone clicks and Cat looks so smug that Kara unreasonably clenches her thighs.

“Have I ever told you,” Kara wordlessly eases both of them off of the bed and lifts Cat, ready and not phased in the least, up into her arms, standing and trotting towards steam and warmth and…the largest bathroom she’s ever seen in a hotel. “Wow, what is this, an entire spa?”

“Suite.” Cat reminds.

“Right.” Kara shakes her head, giving her undivided attention back to the very naked, very beautiful woman in her arms. “That you are the most beautiful person alive? Like…ever.”

“Yes, but why don’t you tell me again?” Cat hums, legs wrapping around her waist, gasping when her back unceremoniously hits cool tile, eyes dark as Kara thoughtlessly tests the water before she slides them both into it.

(Hot enough to smelt a car, not hot enough to boil a volcano—just the right temperature for Cat, Kara’s sure.)

Kara kisses her until Cat moans against her tongue, fingers raking down tile before she hefts herself higher up a clenching abdomen, hands restlessly tangling in dampening blonde locks. Unrelenting hips pin arching ones against misting ceramic (stone? Is this even ceramic?) and eager hands unravel both of Catherine’s clenching legs from around her waist, spreading them and effortlessly holding her up with the underside of her palm, curving underneath one thigh to keep her here.

To keep Cat _right_ here.

It will bruise and she’ll feel guilt catching apologetic breaths later in the settling steam of open glass, but right now all she feels is the _whimper_ that rumbles in a stubborn chest. The rarer showcase of brute strength is enough, Kara knows, for the tremble that rolls down her lover’s spine but she knows the low promise of her voice is cause for the second one when she kisses her, again, free hand making a show of sliding along wet skin before she unceremoniously thrusts inside.

“Why don’t I just show you?” 

—

An hour later, Kara has practically eaten half of the hotel but that hasn’t stopped her quest to eat the other half. She’s wrapped in a white terrycloth robe—she really couldn’t believe these were complimentary for use, she hasn’t stayed in many hotels in her life—hair damp as she skims through the _Daily Planet._ Cat had side-eyed her for only a moment before humming and snapping up the unread section Kara provided, heading towards the small business area, because there was nothing wrong with reading the competition as long as they didn’t pay for it. Happy fingers pluck up the last bagel (Cat had joked the last bagel in Metropolis, after their feast), humming a laugh at a particular anecdote of Lois’, filtering out Cat’s phone call across the globe to their Japan office.

Every couple of seconds, Cat will come over and snatch another section of the paper while she waited for something to be translated. She had tried to goad Kara into translating for her—

_What do you mean, no. You know fucking **tagalong** and **zonkah** —whatever the hell those are—_

_“Um, Tagalongs are…girlscout cookies, Cat. Delicious ones, don’t get me wrong, but you mean Tagalog. And it’s **dzonghka**. Actually. Bhutanese. Not to correct you when you’re all…work-mode-y and very hot—"_

**_“—_ ** _but you don’t know Japanese?”_

_“No, I don’t. But I’m just saying that’s kind of important. To not, you know…confuse a language with a cookie. I think.”_

_“Who the hell even goes to Bhutan?”_

_“Well, the half a million people that live have. Booming tourist industry. I heard it’s nice. I could call Winn? He knows Japa—”_

_“Of course he does, he probably goes to bed hugging one of those animated maid girl pillows everynight.”_

_“Well, I mean he has one, Alex got it for him last year as a gag gift, but he actually does have this really cool giant Totor…Cat?”_

_“Unbelievable.”_

_“What? Where are you going?”_

_“Since my current translator is useless…I think I’ll call the little nerd myself.”_

_“Don’t scare him too badly.”_

_“Just enough to make a Saturday fun. Do you have the—”_

_“Stocks?”_

_“Hmm…yes. Thank you.”_

_—_ to little success, but the simple act was almost domestic in a way Kara didn’t have the heart to dwell on. Both of them quietly taking in the almost-afternoon sun post-shower, Cat working while Kara reads through the paper and hands up any relevant pieces she knows ever-knowing eyes will want to skim through. Despite common perception, not all of Cat’s phone calls involve yelling (just…okay, a lot of them do, but not _all_ of them) and this one is a nice change of pace for a nice day. A CEO’s work never stops but it sounds, at least, like Japan is going well.

Eventually, Cat thanks Winn—sincere with first name and all—and Kara knows that it will be a favor inevitably repaid. She unsuccessfully tries not to smile when she overhears (not intentionally, she just hears some things, really) the soft hitch to the ever-professional tone, Catherine responding with a simple:

_Of course, Winn. Thank you._

Before the professionalism is back and she reminds (maybe threatens) her ex-employee of the strict NDA he signed with a lifetime membership of silence.

Kara smiles up at her lover when the phone sets down along with a flicked edge of the _Planet_ section she’d read during the call, a powerful stride not negated in the least by a matching, flowing white terry-cloth robe.

“Is everything—”

“I've arisen to a decision.” Cat announces like they're at a board meeting but her smile is far gentler than it was on the phone a few moments ago, knees resting against the edge of the bed inbetween Kara’s own. Kara just stares at her, half a bagel hanging from her mouth, slowly lowering the paper (she might have finally made her way to the cartoon section and doesn’t exactly want Cat to see her reading that, anyways) in order to take her lovers’ firm nod in, arms immediately coming up to wrap around a waist.

“O...kay.”

“Stop eating.” Cat rolls her eyes at the pout that immediately forms around the starch, snatching away the bagel to an indignant noise, a muffled _hey_ stemmed by the very serious look on familiar features. “It's not going anywhere Kara, Jesus. I promise you the food service will answer the moment I call. Now, again, I— _”_ She waves a hand up towards her own beautiful face, popping one shoulder in a pose legally trademarked. Kara knows, because she had to figure out how to explain it to the lawyer two years ago.

She’s still not really entirely sure it was legal to trademark, but the lawyer somehow pushed it through for them, anyways.

“Why are you doing the pose from--”

“Kara.” Cat snaps fingers in front of her face. “Focus. Me. We're having me time.”

“Okay. I'm focused.”

“Me time.” Cat repeats and when Kara's eyes flick over to the bagel Cat snaps again. “Ahh—me time.”

“I'm not a dog.” Kara whines and then realizes that is very dog-like, so she raises her hands, instead, pointing both fingers to her lover in a green light. “Ok. Sorry. Cat time. I'm present. I'm here. I'm in this. Go.”

“Hold your applause until the end, please,” There's a slow, sinful hum and Kara smiles because, oh, Cat's on a victory high of her own, isn’t she? Japan must have gone well.

“No promises.”

“But I, the great, talented, _”_ Cat slides up the bed into Kara's arms _,_ robe-clad biceps flexing as they immediately wrap around to steady her. “ _Very_ successful Cat Grant…” It’s another hum and Kara doesn’t bother hiding the shiver up her spine as she pulls Cat up into her lap, “...am moving onto my next venture. And I'm not talking about CatCo’s latest string of very impressive acquisitions, one of which is none other than a Japan branch starting in two months. Oh, no-no.”

That explains it.  

“Bigger than Japan?” Kara smiles, “Don't tell me you finally agreed to that commercial for Jell-o--”

“No. Greater than television. Greater than Jell-o.” Kara doesn’t want to argue that there’s not many things greater than Jell-o, an edible substance that can defy gravity and take hilarious forms of any mold she might put it in. “Greater than media, itself. I am moving onto the next greatest possible achievement a woman could surmount—”

“You know Katie Couric was just goading you about climbing Everest, Cat. But if you really want, I could just fly you up to the top—”

“Stop guessing.” Cat places her whole hand over Kara's face and a laugh rumbles against skin, letting out a hum of acknowledgement, mumbling against fingers that just a few hours ago were far more pleasantly-occupied—

“If you wanted to shut me up, you should have just—” Without a word, Cat shoves the bagel into Kara's mouth, the superhero humming with a happy sigh, using one arm to lift Cat up while she adjusts, ripping it in half and placing it aside with a smile because, teasing or not, Cat _is_ more important.

And she’s definitely greater than jell-o.

“I've decided to sell CatCo.”

“...what?” It’s a noise muffled around the bagel, cheeks puffed out and wide because she’s certain she misheard it, cream cheese caught on her upper lip.

“Well, I guess I decided to _sell_ CatCo years ago, to share-holders, so that my empire and legacy wouldn’t crumble underneath an idiotic presidency while I was losing my stock market hold. Selling your soul for a business _is_ the American dream. What I should say…” Cat is no longer striking a pose and Kara can see it, now, the way the sun catches at the edges of her eyes, arms wrapping around Kara’s neck as she straddles her hips fully, robe sliding up thighs as Sol dances against skin like the water of a tide skimming along a beach. “Is that I’ve decided to slowly concede my role, step back into an advisory position, and finally let someone else take the reins, for a change. I'm embracing the unknown.”

Kara just blinks. Swallows, and then blinks, again. “So you’re...you’re thinking of stepping down? At CatCo.”

“Someday. Not _soon_ , of course, but...someday, once I’ve trained an adequate replacement.” A hand pulls back to wipe away cream cheese before sucking lightly on a thumb, “Come on, Kara, you knew this day would come—”

“Honestly? I’m not so sure I did.” She breathes. “But you look...you look so happy about this that I’m going to adamantly remind you that my surprise in no way, shape, or form means I’m not supportive. Way supportive.”

“You always are. To a fault.”

“I mean, I just was always so certain you were going to have everyone bury you in your desk at the ripe young age of 205 after taking over the world from CatCo's helipad or something—” Kara rambles a bit, not entirely kidding, but Cat just gives her a cutting look.

“While ergonomic and suitable for everyday use and some of our _better_ late-night activities, a german-engineered desk is _not_ something I want to be buried in. It’s not even mahogany, Kara. I have standards.”

“I mean, your arrangements explicitly stated—” Kara rambles a little bit more because she can’t seem to stop, shaking her head to look back up, “Okay, that’s beside the point. I’m taking it in, I’m sorry. Change.”

“Change.” Cat agrees and Kara lets out a short breath through her nose, nodding, a hint of Kryptonian nerve lining her jaw because she means it, she wants to be supportive.

“So…”

“ _So._ ” Cat’s jaw tips back, “I'm...slowly untangling myself from CatCo. From my legacy. From the media, the monotony, and the humdrum boring everyday life and going back to what I always wanted to do, other than kick ass and take names. Which I do on a daily basis.” Cat gives her a look and Kara holds up her hands when the pause goes on a little longer than it should, one of which immediately wraps back around a slim waist to steady her.

“Agreed, you just told me to hold my applause.” Their eyes meet and Cat’s are…bright and twinkling and Kara can’t remember the last time Catherine looked so...light, and suddenly any of her apprehension fades away. Change doesn’t look so scary when it looks so…free. “So...well, you obviously have a plan outside of just leaving—”

“Ah-ah, not leaving.” Cat seems intent about that word, “I’ll still be acting chair, just…” She huffs out of her nose and Kara brushes fingers along her cheek, trying to be supportive because this shouldn’t turn into a board room announcement.

“So,” Kara continues, “You must have a plan outside of _that_. Of finding a replacement. When you made me arrange your funeral arrangements after that Leslie kidnapping—”

“Ah, one of my more morbid but necessary moments.” Cat recalls with a hum before she slits her eyes. “What is it with you talking about my funeral, exactly? I’m not dead. Seriously, your death-kick lately is worse than that girl in _Beetlejuice._ ”

Kara ignores that.

“—you were adamant about me making sure they buried you with a typewriter, a bottle of your finest whiskey, and a fail-safe escape route in-case you really could work from the dead. Which I’m _still_ not entirely sure if you were kidding about, by the way, so I have feeling one day Eve is going to stumble across some really worrying schematics in that desk. You’re not going to just stop working.”

Cat, unphased, offers with a sly smile but Kara sees it—sees the hint of something else at the corner of her eyes—and Kara’s stomach clenches:

“I'm writing again.”

“You are?” Kara's smile spreads, “Cat, that's great.”

“No ghost writers, this time. No bombastic stories or re-tellings. I'm writing a book,” She hesitates, tipping Kara's chin up just a little, “I'm writing it on you.”

Kara, who’s picked that unfortunate time to take another bite because she thought they were onto happier revelations, chokes on the bagel.

“W—h—cuse me?”

“Breathe.”

“Trying.” Kara coughs, pulling back just enough to swallow, careful not to drop Catherine as she somehow manages to clear enough of an airway to speak and looks back up. Cat doesn’t look particularly worried about her dying. “I don't—you—what?”

“Not just you, Kara, but _heroes._ Of the super kind, of course. Not for the ratings or the obvious key puff of it—not for the Trib or for CatCo, at all.” Cat shakes her head, hands skimming up to brush along Kara's cheeks, “I’m writing this for the world, not for the raves. I want to write a book about your home—about your origin, about Super—” A pause, intentional in a way Kara’s softening eyes showcase her appreciation for: “ _Kal-El_ ’s origin—and all of the heroes on Earth. That funny little Martian man Olivia is always talking about, even. Maybe even that godawful brooding _bat_ who’s the walking eyesore epitome of gothic mancave incarnate.” There’s that look, again, soft and piercing and almost hesitant as Cat sucks in another short breath through her teeth, “And I'd like your guidance in writing it.”

“My—” A tongue darts out over suddenly dry lips, blinking but Catherine is surprisingly patient, fingers pushing up from cheeks into hair.

“You’re a hero, Kara, so, yes. Your guidance. I’ll have a firmer pitch after I talk to my editor next week, so don’t give me a hard no until you’ve thought it over, of course, but it would require you telling me about your history and…being comfortable with the world wanting to hear it.”

Kara pauses, searching familiar features—lifting a bagel-less hand to skim along her jaw—before she nods, promising, “I’ll think it over.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The fact that Cat’s come to her _without_ a hard pitch is more telling than anything else.

“But you writing,” Kara presses, lips finding a much easier smile—finding this much easier to focus on, in the bright light of Metropolis—leaning up to catch Cat’s lips, “That’s exciting.”

“Oh, it is.” It lingers and when Catherine’s lips tip upwards in a smile, Kara can feel it, all of her breath lost when her lover breathes in, like she’s stolen her soul itself from the gentle skim of her tongue along a lower lip, “I’ve kept my prose from the world for too long, I think. And I want—” It doesn’t matter how many times Cat kisses her, Kara always forgets how to _breathe_ when teeth tug at her lower lip, “To celebrate. Don’t you?”

Kara’s hand restlessly skims along the bed, knocking the lingering plates onto the soft carpeted floor, tugging Catherine the rest of the way on top of her before fingers skim up the same path the sun had traced before, sliding underneath the soft snow of a robe to seek the warmth of an unburdened hip. Cat’s nails skim along curving shoulders until Kara’s own robe pools in a white sea of mercury behind them as her palm flattens over Kara’s quickening heartbeat.

“Yes.” Kara barely has the breath to agree.

And the smug, happy smile on Catherine’s lips when she shoves her down onto the bed with that one hand that has more power over Kara than all of the radioactive meteorites of Krypton combined is one of the most beautiful things she’s ever seen, because this is her moment—this is Catherine’s moment—and it’s not lost on Kara that this is them sharing it.

Catherine is straddling her in a sea of clouds with the sun on her bare shoulders, smiling down at her like she’s won the war of life, itself, and Kara is her _prize._

And it’s definitely not lost on Kara that she would rather never be anywhere else when lips trail down a craning neck in hot, skimming nips of teeth and tongue to her breasts, back arching off of the bed when Cat unceremoniously lifts an impatient hand up to her right, fingers already moving along straining skin.

“Cat—” Kara’s eyes close and the only thing she sees is the faded outline of Catherine’s tongue swirling along her nipple before roughly tugging it into her mouth, unable to focus on any image after that, at all, fingers restlessly raising to tangle in damp, unkempt blonde locks. “Rao, you’re beautiful.” It’s a murmur, transfixed when she opens heavy-lidded eyes to see her—to see Catherine naked and open and celebratory and _straddling her_ , breast in her mouth—and she is.

She’s so beautiful.

Lust-filled green slowly track upwards and when their eyes meet, even superspeed is barely enough to catch Cat when she launches herself back upwards, their mouths meeting in a bruising kiss.

Kara wonders if she would have bruised, if Cat had kissed her like this, yesterday, or if Cat’s been bruising her underneath her skin for months, now. If everytime Kara traces her lips she’ll feel Cat there, loving and rough and everything Kara could ever want—

Her mouth wrenches away to breathe, trailing down a neck as Cat’s hand rakes nails between breasts—a panting chest—a clenching stomach—arching hips—

It doesn’t even go past the first note before Kara hears Cat’s growl.

_It’s been--one week since you looked at me--_

Despite herself, Kara can’t help but laugh—half groan of frustration and half of amusement—lips on a neck spreading into a smile against warm skin as the familiar ringtone blares through the large hotel, the silence of such a private space interrupted by the lively vocals of one Ed Robertson.

_Five days since you laughed at me—_

Cat looks less than pleased at the laugh and Kara tips back bright eyes to kiss her underneath the sound of it, “I’m sorry.”

She’s so, so sorry, because Cat’s hand is _so close—_

“I’m going to throw your phone out of the window.” Cat vows as Kara kisses her, again, laughing against her lips, a little brighter.

“These windows don’t open. And the balcony is too—hey!” It’s definitely a hint of superspeed, now, that allows her to hop back from a quick swat, happy to see a hint of humor replacing the frustration in dark eyes as Kara rolls them over on the bed, pinning dangerous wrists to the bed, a low, _low_ noise that only Cat has ever risen out of her trembling when her lover’s knee pointedly slides between parted legs in retaliation. “Oh…” Her chin tips back and teeth skim along a neck and—

**_IT’S BEEN ONE WEEK—_ **

There it is, again. That loud, almost passive aggressive robot and this time—one of many times her sister has interrupted them—a curse tumbles out of her lips in English.

“I’m sorry.” Kara repeats, breathless and _wet_ and likely staining Cat’s knee with regret before she flops back over the side of the bed, rifling through the lump of clothes next to their well-used bedside, desperately trying to re-focus her sight to either find the damn phone or laser it once and for all.  

“Anytime I listen to 90’s radio I become inexplicably frustrated. It’s a Pavlovian response.” 

**_DROPPED YOUR ARMS TO YOUR SIDES AND—_ **

“Would you like me to change it?” She tosses Cat’s shorts halfway across the room and nearly knocks over a lamp that would likely cost more than her rent, “We can move on to some Annie Lenox—really kill any joy you have for the bands and singers you love one coitus interruptus at a--come on, I know I left it  _right. Here_ \--time?”

**_GONNA DO—_ **

“And _who_ , pray tell, told you I liked Annie Lenox?” Cat pinches one of her cheeks and Kara yelps through a scandalized laugh—swatting backwards as she desperately sifts through her super-skirt.

“Oh, I don’t know, all of the Spotify playlists I had to sift through to re-arrange all of your pilates workout mixes for two yea—where in the world is—hey!”

**IT’S. BEEN. ONE. WEEK—**

Cat bites the skin instead of pinching it, now, and Kara’s protest might not be nearly as firm as it should be, because a yelp shouldn’t sound nearly so much like a _moan_.

“Dearest stalker, do I have to remind you that you _also_ signed an NDA—"

“I’m changing it to Annie Lenox if you don’t sto—” The _‘p’_ is cut off when she finally finds the phone and flips around onto her back just in time to watch Cat practically _pounce_ on her, the sound of the phone once more thumping on the ground lost amidst a roaring laugh from the taller blonde when Cat’s hands move to her sides.

It’s a mixed bag that Catherine figured out pretty early on that Kara’s skin was particularly sensitive in some areas because as impervious as she is, some areas are utter weaknesses. Her neck, to Cat’s teeth—her heart, to Cat’s lips—and her sides, to Cat’s relentless fingers tickling like she’s honed this particular skill-set with a son across the country.

**_REALIZED WE’RE BOTH TO BLAME—_ **

Kara’s yelp is lost to an unending string of broken laughter, barely catching Cat in a protective arm before her back hits the floor with a dull thud, ungracefully falling off of the bed and skidding across carpet in a mess of naked limbs and sheets. But those knowing fingers are _relentless_ and Supergirl, in her time of great duress, knows only one action will save her. Scrambling and desperate to not use her powers, she bats away at Cat’s hands as she pushes heroically towards the phone to the sight of amused green eyes, breathless by the time she lifts it up mid third-call to her ear—

**_\--SORRY—_ **

Laughter still rolling from her tongue as Cat makes her way on top of her, perching backwards on hips she’s once more straddled to a look even more smug and beautiful and—

“ _Kara? What the f—"_

“Alex!” The mortification settles when she realizes she’s already answered the phone in her haste to lift it up to her ear, shooting a halfhearted glare down towards Catherine, who looks anything but dismayed. If anything, Cat looks practically _impish_ , sliding down to trail a kiss up her hip to a spreading fire of blush up Kara’s cheek when she hears her sister’s voice on the other end. Because Alex probably just got an ear-full of an unrestrained laugh.

_“What the **hell** was—”_

“Oh, someone just—” Her voice trembles, an octave higher than it should be, lowering a hand to cover Catherine’s laugh with curling, happy fingers the moment it sounds through the room, “ _Stoppp_.” She begs—pleads—because she can barely breathe and Cat laughing is just going to start her going, again, even if her fingers have stopped their torment. “Not you, Alex. I just—hi.” She clears her throat again, sounding much better the second time, “Everything okay?”

 _“Okay, I’m not even going to ask._ ” There’s a moment’s pause and Kara can just _see_ Alex’s eyes slitting, “ _Right now. I’m not going to ask **right now.** I don’t think I want to know. But I’m asking later. Everything’s okay.” _One good thing about the past exhaustion of the week is that Alex doesn’t even try to tease her about the state of the city, probably out of fear of Supergirl immediately showing up at the DEO, and for once, Kara’s genuinely glad for the respite. Even with Cat’s lips slowly skimming up her hips to her stomach, lazy in a way Kara’s so glad she’s learned she can be.

Because it means their cheeks are both red with laughter (Kara’s maybe equal parts embarrassment and laughter)—because it means Cat’s so content. Because it means Cat’s on the floor with her, right now, happy and ridiculous and victorious.

“Are you okay?” Kara sits up a little and Cat stops at that, eyebrows raising and fingers idly raise from the tangled sheets, their little white casualties of war on the floor, to brush drying hair out of dark, familiar eyes—a thoughtless gesture—humming happily at the repetition:

“ _Everything is okay. I was just checking to make sure you slept instead of, I don’t know, saving a bus-full of drowning orphans?_ ”

Brows knit, “Please tell me a bus-full of orphans was in no danger of drowning, today.”

“Well the semantics of _that_ are more than a little worrying.” Cat murmurs and Kara assumes there’s no cause for alarm because if there _had_ been a bus-full of drowning orphans, last night, she’s certain Cat Grant would have known the moment she checked her phone.

“ _No, I was just—it was an example, no drowning bus-fulls of orph—”_

“Have _you_ slept?” Kara presses, fingers stilling, a hint of guilt settling in her chest in this too-big hotel suite—a little bit from that too-big bed in this too-big city—because Cat had done for her what Kara had undoubtedly done for her sister and what Alex had valiantly tried to give to her.

But Kryptonians are stubborn, through and through.

The two people she likely doesn't have to explain that to were either on the floor with her, looking pleased and light, or huffing out a sigh at her through the phone line, a country away.

“ _How did this become about me, exactly? I was calling to check on you, remember?_ ”

“Alex.”

“ _I’m **fine.** ”_ There’s a second grating sigh there but Kara doesn’t detect any hint of twists or turns on her sister’s tongue, nodding, once more resuming her fingers’ dance through Cat’s hair, a lithe form taking that as a sign to once more crawl up her body, settling happily over Kara in beautiful shadows, hiding the open sunlight from the windows with much warmer skin. “ _So...since you’re not at your apartment, are you over at Cat’s_?”

“What? Why would you think I’m—” Her eyes close, realization settling as she laughs, quieter than the guffaw moments before, almost relieved, “Oh, Carter. No, um...he’s at some...baseball game out of state with his dad, this weekend. I’m actually in Metropolis.”

“ _You’re in Metropolis_?” The surprise is clear there and Kara bites teeth into a lip when Cat once more kisses up her collarbone to her neck and she tries not to gasp into the phone, teeth biting a little harder into her lip so that she doesn’t suddenly think it’s a good idea to bite something else.

“I--yeah. I’m in Metropo...lis.” Cat’s mouth finds that particularly _sensitive_ spot and Kara is torn between leaning closer and running away. “I just popped in to see Lois and I’m supposed to have lunch with—” _Oh_. Oh she definitely feels wrong saying Eliza’s name, at all, when Cat’s mouth is doing _that_ , deciding her second option wasn’t the most wanted, but most _necessary_ of all evils, quickly untangling herself and stumbling on uneasy knees back from the floor and the sheets and the bed and a very satisfied-looking lover. “Eliza? Oh, I—can I—" She trips over the clothes she’d scattered so carelessly around the room a minute before, legs suddenly useless and mouth dry at that look in dark eyes. “Can I call you back?”

“ _What? I mean, sure but—_ ”

Kara covers the mouthpiece, holding up a hand like she’s desperately trying to tame a lioness intent on eating her when Cat slowly raises up from the floor, predatory and smirking.

“Okay, is this about threatening to change it to Annie Lenox? Because I’m sorry—I’m sorry, okay?”

_“Are you sure you’re okay? This is beyond weird behavior. Even for you. Hello, Earth to Krypton. Are you there?”_

“Yeah, what? Hah! I’m fine. Pfft, totally...okay.” She backs up until her bare shoulders are against the nearby wall, Cat advancing like the killer in _Scream_ , not particularly concerned with her own languid pace because they both know Kara is helpless. “I’m just having...lunch? Lunch. With an old friend—”

“Old?” Now Cat looks a bit like a real serial killer and Kara hastily moves to clarify over the phone.

“Old as in long-time friend who is very attractive and not at _all_ intimidating and, _wow_ you look great, is what I meant by old, not—”

“ _Attractive_?”

“Very.” Kara blinks because she realizes she’s said that to her sister, and not just to the woman once more advancing towards her, “I mean, in a—we’re just having lunch and—” Cat, unexpectantly laughs—no mercy—and Kara just groans.

This, she hopes, is punishment enough, cheeks brighter than the God she finds herself praying to this very moment.

 _“Oh my God.”_ There’s a long pause and Alex practically _hisses_ , “ _Do not tell me you are you **sleeping** with someone right now?” _

“What?” Kara yelps, eyes wearily darting from an advancing Cat to the phone, “No, I am not sleeping with someone. Right now. That’s—why would you think I’m—”

“ _Oh, God. Please tell me that you did not pick up the phone during—”_

“I should really go.”

“ _Is this why you’ve been so—”_

“Gotta go!” Kara repeats clicking off the phone the moment Cat leaps up into her arms, catching her and whirling her around to press a back against the wall in a seamless effort, thankfully far more graceful than she was backpedaling a few moments before.

“Well, there goes _that_ secret.” Cat drones before kissing her, dangerous and consuming and Kara has to take a moment to remember where she even is when their lips barely part, humming despite the following protest:

“Hey, there’s a chance she doesn’t know. I could always employ your most famous anti-paparazzi technique.”

“Hmm…” Cat’s brows raise, nails once more dragging down her chest. “Avoid, avoid, avoid, deny, deny, deny?”

“No.” Kara hisses when teeth tug at her ear, flattening both of them up against the wall so that she can breathe, “Just don’t talk about it.”

“Oh, so you’re a Republican, now.”

For both of their benefits, Kara’s gasps, pulling away to hide her smile but not laughing eyes. “Ms. Grant, I’m offended.”

“Not as offended as I am to be kissing a Republican.” Cat’s thumb brushes over her lower lip.

“It’s not like I’m about to start talking about trickle-down economics and—”

“Don’t make me kick you out of bed, Kara.”

“We’re not in a bed.” That hint of a smile dangerously threatens to flutter up Cat’s lips.

“Okay, I officially do _not_ like this side of you. Cheeky.”

“What can I say?” Kara smirks, hands sliding down lower and fingers curling until Cat gasps into her ear, “You bring out the best in me.”

“Back on the bed,” Cat orders without a single moment’s hesitation, breath hot against her ear, fingers chasing comet trails of heat down unmarred skin, “So that I can fuck you properly without interruption, this time.”

Kara doesn’t even bother getting out a word edge-wise, obedient and eager, immediately falling backwards onto the nearby bed and sprawling for one, anxious, _desperate_ moment before Cat once more pounces.

They wind up christening the hotel room in more ways that Kara could have possibly imagined and when the sun lowers, she feels like a fully-charged battery, hesitating for only a moment as her fingers skim along the ribbed blue of a hero’s uniform.

The city has quieted outside the walls of this wonderful hotel room and Kara never wants to leave.

“I promise I won’t drop you, Cat.” It’s more than a promise, it’s a fact, trying to ignore the way the words husk along the edge of her tongue because the moment the sun set, she felt the warmth of it leave in more ways than one.

But dreams, just like her mother’s last words, have a habit of staying with her.

Every time the sun sets, on the hills—

“You better not.” It’s a hum, but Catherine hasn’t dressed, yet, fingers lingering along a pair of earrings set carefully aside on the bedside table, one of them returned the night before. The lights of Metropolis dance gold hues around the room as her nail dips along what must be cool metal and Kara carefully slides up behind her, their eyes slowly raising to meet in the mirror right above it. It’s a rare commodity that she always values, the sight of Catherine’s body easing backwards into her presence. “I know you never would, Kara. But…perhaps it would be better if you flew back, tonight, and I left in the morning.” It’s quiet and Kara’s glad that it at least sounds hesitant and she smiles—she tries to, she does—because a night should be enough to last a lifetime, shouldn’t it?

“Are you sure? I don’t mind bringing you back. I don’t have to stay, but it…” Kara sucks in a sharp breath, molding the rest of the distance between them, fingers apologetically skimming along the bruise along Cat’s thigh, arm wrapping around her waist, lips brushing over a temple. And she breathes her in like she does everytime—like it might be the last. “It would always make me feel better to know you’re safe, myself.”

“The plane will be fine.”

Kara’s eyes flick downwards to watch Cat’s knuckles turn white around the gold of earrings, fingers gingerly moving down to ease along the skin there, promising—her second in the span of a few seconds—

“It’s okay, Catherine. Really. I understand.” Those fingers tremble and Kara lifts one up to her lips, hoping her smile is encouraging enough for the both of them, not pulling away until she feels Cat’s small tremor stop.

And she has to pull away—has to put some distance between them—turning away to close her eyes and swallow, eyes wetter than they ever should be for something so small and simple, trying to hide the way her own fingers quake as they move to slide a sigil over her chest and—

She’s halted in the motion by arms wrapping around her waist, holding the symbol of her house against skin as white, resolute fingers ease Kara’s trembling hands like she had to Catherine’s a moment before. The breath swells so painfully in her chest that she’s worried she’s accidentally frozen it inside of herself, instead, petrified as she slowly turns around, blinking away moisture to look questioningly into her lover’s eyes.

Into Cat—whose eyes are far less resolute than her fingers, brimming with an ocean before she nods, another decision of many settling between them.

There's so much water on this planet, she remembers, that all of the people are filled to the brim with it.

“Kara…” Catherine tugs her closer, Kara’s feet tangling in a pile of discarded clothes, gasping a breath out between them from the sharp motion and gladly—always gladly—letting Cat pull her as close as she likes. Their lips are so close she can taste her and Kara doesn’t ask her—won’t ask her—but if her breath could form words out of wisps, alone, she would _beg_ —

Catherine sucks in a sharp gust of air through her nose, only the quiet rattle of the breath swelling her shoulders showcasing any hint of apprehension or nerves, at all, as the weight of it might settle between them. But her voice is casual as a tongue darts out over a lower lip, dark eyes settling on Kara’s mouth before they track upwards and stay, even more dangerously, on Kara’s eyes.

Kara, who smiles even before she offers.

“I suppose we never did…get that weekend at the beach house.”

Kara pushes her back into the hotel with a gust of super speed that rattles the glasses on the suite’s small bar—

“Oh, that’s still _so fucking—”_

Nails curl in shoulders--beautiful matchstick fingers against the wick of her back--as the wind settles in the room and Kara never gets to hear the end of that sentence because Catherine is too busy throwing her supersuit halfway across the room and kissing her for Kara to care.

Maybe two days, Kara _prays_ —maybe two days will be enough to last a lifetime.

\--

 **Rule #48. Enjoy it while it lasts. The** **city** **comes first. If it needs to end, it needs to end.**

There's another addition, almost quiet with its light scrawl in pencil at the bottom, a stark contrast to a list written in pen.

_When the sun sets on the West Hills...._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Kryptonian Translations**; [Source](http://kryptonian.info/doyle/dictionary.html)
> 
> * **Zha** : No. ("Zha-ehd" would mean "stop" or "no more") **Interjection** P: [ʒæ]; K: ZA  
>  * **Kryptahnium** : Kryptonian (person/lineage) **Noun** P: [kɹɪp.tɑn.jum] K: kryptanúm    
>  ** **Nim-ta Kal-El** : This would essentially mean "Where is Kal-El?" Or "Who is Kal-El"; essentially "hey house-brother man, take me to my lil cuz pls"  
>  ** **Kh ahp nahzhgehn khap** This phrase would essentially mean "Are you like me" meaning -- "Are you Kryptonian?" or even further "Are you of my house?"  
>    
> 


	12. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is that what happens every time I take off your glasses?” Cats voice is gentler than it should be and Kara's breath catches when she feels fingers gently tuck up her chin, eyes searching and quiet and serious in a way that makes her swallow down the fluttering birds in her chest.
> 
> “Just for a second.” Kara admits. “For a second, I see…” A shaking head, useless to describe it with a faint, pittering laugh, “The world.”
> 
> “So what do you see now?” It's curious and Kara's smile spreads across her cheeks.
> 
> “I still see the world.” She murmurs, voice quiet—honest—leaning into warm hands, “But all I see is you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rules? What rules. JK there's plenty, but none for this chapter. 
> 
> A little early. You guys are great--seriously great. There's no Kryptonian translations for this chapter, but a whole lot of legwork for what's about to come. TW: Mon-El is in this chapter? People in this fandom seem easily upset by his presence on occasion so I like to give a good head's up. 
> 
> Please feel free to let me know what you think.
> 
> PS: I promise I haven't forgotten about _Time Drift_. You'll get an update for that one soon.

“Alex—”

_“Kara.”_

“Alex—” Kara says a little louder, holding open the hotel door, eyelashes fluttering as the sun warms her cheeks, huffing out of her nose as she pushes up glasses, pressing the phone closer to an ear.

“ _Kara!”_ It’s louder and Kara opens her mouth—

“ **A L E—”**

“I swear to God if you finish saying her name one more time I’m duct taping your mouth shut.” Cat warns, eyes bright before she fishes out a set of sunglasses and long fingers seem intent on sliding them up the bridge of an ever-ready, elegant nose before she seems to think better of it, sliding them onto Kara’s wrinkling nose, instead. A hint of a surprised laugh leaves lips once-intent on finishing her sister’s name, large sunglasses sliding down before she pushes them up, rattling as they clink against lead glasses. “Oh, _there’s_ a fashion statement. Be still my heart.”

The sun dances between them like a church sermon, this Sunday morning, pre-noon air crisp on her tongue as she laughs, reaching up fingers to cover the mouthpiece.

“Are you sure you want to go with the sunglasses, again?” Teeth bite a lip, “You really should be more careful with your—”  

“ _Kara! Do **not** make me camp out in front of your door!”_

“I showed you mine, you show me yours, _Ms. Danvers_.” Cat purrs and Kara’s tongue replaces teeth, sliding down the sunglasses to slowly slide off lead-lined ones instead, taking great care to slide them up onto her lover’s nose with a laugh.

Cat makes them look as fabulous as she does everything else, taking them with a humming grace, like they were molten in lead to frame her face like God sculpted them for that purpose, alone.

“ _What is that? What are you doing? Are you laughing? Why are you laughing, oh my God please don’t be the sex thing, again—”_

“For pete’s—Alex!” Kara winces at the look Cat gives her, whispering over the edge of the phone, “Please no duct tape.” Louder, “I’m not having sex. Am I not allowed to laugh, anymore? Why can’t I laugh? Yes, it is with someone mysterious and faceless to you, but that’s all I’m doing. Laughing. Which, no, was…maybe _not_ what I did this weekend, but what I did this weekend was—was consensual and—and do you _really_ want to know about this?”

“ _Well, I don’t know, because my sister didn’t tell me anyone was even on the weekend list to laugh at!”_

“With.”

“ _To laugh period! With! At! You're laughing next to someone laughing! You're both laughing together!"_

“Alex.” Kara groans, pushing up sunglasses to rub between her brows, a crease forming there.

“ _Kara._ ”

“Ale—hey!” Kara yelps when the phone is suddenly sniped from her hand, clicked off with a thumb that looks anything but innocent. Cat makes regular glasses look like sunglasses when her eyebrows raise behind them and Kara frowns.

“Oops.” It’s drawled, Catherine finally untucking glasses from her nose with far more care than the swipe of her thumb, tucking them in her inner coat pocket with a small pat.

“Cat.” It’s the same tone Supergirl unknowingly used on a litterer last week and Cat does not look pleased, but drops the phone in Kara’s up-turned palm, regardless. “That’s not going to keep her from calling me for the rest of the day, you know.”

“Well, it _will_ keep me from having to listen to it.” And there’s that up-tuck of lips at the edges and Kara can’t even find it in herself to be mad, brushing a strand of hair from eyes, maybe even daring to lean down when another ringtone erupts from the phone in her palm—

“Oh, come on.”

Cat just smirks, lifting up her latte between them, looking smug as she sips a hum through the lid. “You’re just popular, aren’t you?”

Kara swipes on the phone and perks up just a little, despite the interruption, when a warm voice greets her—“Eliza! I’m on my way there now, honest.”

_“With a guest?”_

“What? Why would I have a—” Kara groans, making that her thousandth groan in so few minutes, realization settling: “Alex just called you, didn’t she?”

_“Well, I’ve been calling her for weeks and she happened to mention that you were in Metropolis with someone—”_

“No, that someone isn’t coming to lunch, Eliza. No someone-s are coming to lun—” Kara pauses, raising her head but Cat who immediately shakes her head with a _uh-uh_ tutting over the rim of a lid. Kara sighs, repeating: “No someone-s are coming to lunch.”

“ _Did you tell this someone that I’m a fantastic cook_?”

“Eliza, I promise everyone in my life is very well aware of how good of a cook you are. I rant and rave about you every chance I get, and how well-fed I was in my youth is one of the first of many happy facts I divulge.” There’s a hint of a happy laugh, there, hesitating only a moment before she covers the mouthpiece, shifting a little closer to humming lips, Cat’s eyes now firmly set on her own phone, “I promised you that you would never have to go to lunch with your mother, you’re welcome to come to lunch with mine. You know. If you want.”

“More of a chance of me going to gamenight.” Cat doesn’t look up.

“Oh, so there’s a chance.” Maybe the sunglasses on the top of her head are making her bold, but Kara can’t help her smile and she sees it—she sees the way Cat’s lips barely quirk at the edges in response.

“ _Kara?_ ”

“Sorry, Eliza, I—” A breath, gentler, voice full of intent: “Sorry. Eliza.”

“ _Oh, fine, she doesn’t have to come. Could you stop and pick up some heavy cream on the way? It looks like I’m out—”_

 _“_ Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Is there anything else from the store, or do you—”

 _“Nope. Thanks, sweetie—oh, damn it’s boiling ov—Tell Cat I said hi. Fly safe. Love you._ ”

The line clicks.

There’s a long moment of silence as Kara just stares blankly down at her phone and that seems to be enough of a moment of recognition for the slow voice above her to drawl, apparently no longer looking at a phone and the suddenly-shrinking hero can _feel_ it, this heat spreading from her neck to her cheeks to her _tongue_ —

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, _Kara._ Those bulged eyes could only mean one of two things. You're having a brain aneurysm or she knows.”

Kara winces, shrugging, a little sheepish as she hesitantly skims up eyes to see Cat glaring, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of her lips, “Sorry? But, um…Eliza…said hi.”

“Of course she did.” Cat leans closer and Kara shuffles her phone so that she doesn’t reach to shuffle the glasses no longer on her nose and from the look in dark eyes, Cat knows. She always knows. So Kara groans for the thousandth and _second_ time, repeating—

“I’m _sorry_.”

“ _How_ , exactly,” Fingers smooth down Kara’s shirt like the faint wind blowing through the skyscrapers has ruffled it when really, the only time it’s been crinkled has been when she’d tugged Cat close to keep someone from jostling into her in the elevator before wiping the button, thoughtless and immediate. “Did you manage to keep a single secret, especially one so large, for over a decade?”

“Rules?” Kara croaks, a hint of heat tinging the whites of her cheeks like a watercolor slowly spreading hues of life in puddles along a white canvas. “I have rules.”

“Rules,” Cat curls her tongue along the word, shirt smooth but hands not moving and Kara’s teeth tuck up her lower lip, fingers curling around wrists with a hint of a spreading smile. “Oh, so you _can_ follow a few of those.”

“Please stop enjoying this so much.” Teeth try to tamp down on the smile spreading on her face, but there’s no hope and soon the smile turns into a laugh in the middle of this wide, busy street, a quick pulse underneath her fingers a lifedrum underneath the footsteps of the civilians making their ways about their day.

“No.” Cat smiles, her own nose barely wrinkling, “I refuse.”

And this is it. Kara’s on her way to lunch with Eliza and Catherine is on her way to lunch with Adam (both of them visiting, one from Opal, for a tour of Cat's old haunts) and Metropolis will be left behind by the both of them, a few hours from now. They agreed to separate flights—separate paths—and Cat will be in the office at 7:05 AM and Kara…Kara might be the first person to greet her, but she won’t sit outside of her office, anymore.

And maybe she's still getting used to that. How long will it take to get used to that? 

They walk a few blocks before Kara stops, gently curving fingers around a bicep, feeling the scratch of wool, breath catching when Cat reaches up to gently curl Kara’s scarf tighter around a craning neck.

There’s a life-march in this city. The horns and the wind and the cars and the people laughing and talking and hailing cabs. Two streets down a child laughs and five floors up of the corporate building they’re cornered against, someone slaps a keyboard down against their desk, but all Kara hears is the way the wind curls blonde hair and all she feels is that heartbeat and all sees is the way Metropolis lights up Catherine’s smile in the middle of the day.

“Do you know the first word I ever learned—I mean, other than ‘ _what’_ , because I feel like that doesn’t really count—did you know the first word I ever learned in English?” Kara murmurs, not sure why she offers it up, at all, that memory of a little girl running down the streets pressing in a way that makes her chest tighten, because she thinks this weekend should end on this. Like this.

“Food?” Cat quips—an immediate reaction because if there’s one thing quicker than either Supergirl or her cousin’s speed, it would be Cat Grant’s sharp wit. Cat’s wit is likely the one thing that could outrun a singularity, nevermind a runaway train or a speeding bullet—and Cat actually _pauses_ , lips barely pursing in a hint of apology. Months ago, Kara would have thought Cat had her own bizarro, right now…she smiles. “What?”

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” Cat waves a wrist, always so careful not to look surprised, but even less trusting in the middle of the street and Kara just laughs, “I’ll do no such—”

“Come on, Catherine, trust me.” Kara presses, tugging Cat closer—gentle and careful—watching the way the shadow of the building they’ve stopped before cover the soft, barely-wrinkling skin around dark eyes as a smile spreads. It’s hesitant and quiet—almost nervous around the edges in a way that only Kara’s close enough to see—and the older woman makes a great show of blowing frustrated air out of her nostrils before pointedly closing her eyes. Before trusting her, and the warmth spreads down to the fingers smoothing along elbows. “Thank you.”

“If you’re setting up some kind of _punk’d_ skit, I’ll remind you that I sued Ashton for so much his divorce with Demi looked like—”

“Catherine.” Kara laughs, hands smoothing up to her shoulders, turning around a small form and tugging her back into her chest, arms wrapping around a slim waist in the middle of the day. In the middle of the street. Freedom in a city that isn’t hers, but used to be Cat’s, once upon a time, and she idly wonders if Cat used to look out of the highest windows of the _Daily Planet_ like Kara peaks over the edge of a balcony, breathing in the overwhelming air of it all. “What do you hear?”

“Other than you breathing in my ear?” Kara can’t see her anymore, but she practically _feels_ that little smirk just as well as she feels the sun dancing up off of the concrete in front of them, a clear line where they’ve tucked themselves in the shadows of the skyscraper above. And all Kara has to do is wait, chin falling down to a slender shoulder, palms smoothing over her lover’s abdomen as she feels breathing settle, because Cat Grant might have the sharpest of wits, but she’s nothing if not dedicated to any task she puts her mind to.

Their bodies slot together, natural and warm, and when fingers brush underneath the line of a coat to feel breath swell a stomach, Cat’s body relaxes and sags into her arms. A pulse evens—breath barely tickles against parting lips—and Kara knows that she’s _listening,_ so she waits, and it doesn’t take long.

“I…hear noise.” Cat repeats and Kara closes her eyes, listening with her, the vibration of a hum brushing along an ear. “The city.”

“What’s that mean? I mean, what do _you_ …hear?” It’s a gentle press, wrapping her arms tighter around Cat’s waist so that she has something to anchor against and any lingering stress fades in an arching spine, the cool of the city settling in the shadows.

“I…I hear…” A slow breath, Cat’s chin tipping a little further upwards like she’s trying to catch the vibrations of the city along her chin, shoulders barely rolling into Kara as she does. “I hear the…cars. The loudest, most obnoxious things usually are first, aren’t they? Horns—God, I forgot how impatient Metropolites are. Hmm,” A hint of a smiling laugh, “There’s a car moving in front of us and I…just heard its brakes squeak. They should likely get that checked out before they cause some accident, or another. Idiots, I mean, honestly, how hard is routine maintenance on a vehicle—”

“Catherine,” Kara squints one eye open, a gentle, re-directing noise, trying to keep that sharp mind on track, “What else?”

“Oh, fine, fine. What do I hear? I hear cars further away—down the street, in the…distance. It would be difficult to say where they are. More and more cars are going past us—the sound of them…accelerating and…wooshing about, like how the air sounds when you’re flying. When you take me flying. An overzealous motorcycle. I hear…” Cat’s hands slowly raise up to Kara’s wrists, almost thoughtlessly smoothing down the ridges of her knuckles, buried underneath fabric of a coat.

An encouraging hum against that ear, thumb smoothing along a stomach.

“I…hear the people walking in front of us. It’s almost like some kind of staccato…” A hand must wave in front of them, the faintest hint of wind brushing along knuckles before it’s once more replaced with warmth. “Syncopated symphony. It’s almost impossible to differentiate who’s coming or going. Far in the distance I guess I hear a…person. I think they’re yelling about a hotdog—”

“The best in the city.” Kara supplies, nose turning into a cheek with a hint of a spreading smile that Cat might feel, from the way her breath skips a beat along with her heart.

“Oh, so I hear someone yelling lies, then. He’s lucky no one’s sued for slander.” Another chuckling hum, fingers idly working down to Kara’s fingertips, “Underneath the constant hum and the cars and that _yelling_ , I hear…chatter. People. For the life of me I wouldn’t possibly—I couldn’t possibly hear what they’re saying, but it’s like a rolling tide underneath it all. Like listening to the ocean against the sand—a constant, changing roaring. Though it’s gentle, I suppose…” Cat’s finger dips underneath Kara’s and their fingers twine, “How odd? I never would have thought the noise of this city was…gentle, but here we are. I hear a bell—a bicycle and a cyclist about their day, delivering my competitor’s papers, no doubt—and…hmm.”

Someone laughs down the street and Kara feels the noise rise through Catherine’s spine like the swell of a symphony.

“It sounds loud and obnoxious at first, but I suppose when you really listen to it, you’re trying to teach me some life lesson about there always being more underneath the noise, aren’t you?” Her voice is quiet—gentle—and Kara just chuckles.

“I’m not trying to teach you a life lesson, Cat. That’s your job, I know better than to compete.”

“One would think.” It’s a wistful breath—a hint of humor underlining something so serious as the wind blows through their hair—and Cat leans back up into her, nose brushing along a cheek, and Kara’s breath catches when her eyes open to see the pair so close to her still closed. Still listening. “But life lessons are abundant and, regardless of how infinitesimally present they might be on occasion, they _are_ present through all stages of life, nevertheless, Kara.”

It’s as close, Kara thinks, to Catherine admitting that Kara’s taught her something, too. So Kara takes the gift for what it is, brushing lips over the high rise of a cheek, bold in this stolen city of weekends and happy moments.

“What else do you hear?”

“I…do hear you breathing. And I just heard the faint tremor of your voice—the wind brush through…something. Heaven knows what. Your hair, maybe? I’ll admit that I am not,” Cat’s voice is gentle—quiet, “Used to stopping and taking stock of sounds. Sights—facts—people, on occasion, not sound. What do you hear?”

“All of that and more.” Kara smiles, “For miles and miles.”

“Well, that sounds…overwhelming.”

“It used to be.” It’s a concession, not letting go of her hold—not letting go of the way Catherine rests so comfortably against her in these cool shadows on cooler pavement, the light of the city only a few steps away. “When I was a little girl, I heard all of that and more and it all blurred together, so I learned how to…focus. I learned what all of those sounds really mean.”

“And what?” Cat’s eyelashes flutter, now, and she looks almost surprised to be so close to Kara as the horns fade around them and the cars muddle on in neverending _wooshing_ and the yelling and laughter and chatter all fade into the faintest of thumps when Kara raises one of their twined hands up to a Kryptonian heart, “Is that?”

“Life.”

“Life?” Cat repeats, tongue darting out over her lips, leaning up into her, “I used to love the sound of the city. It always felt so busy—so _endless_. Like I could fade away into the cracks of the street, or the gray of the asphalt and let the noise of it all drum against my back like a heartbeat. It was my _warsong_. I never bothered listening to the individuality of it.”

“Well…” Kara laughs a little, “Maybe that’s your life lesson?”

“That there’s ten million lives here all trying to get ahead?” Cat presses and Kara’s laughter eases into something loving, rumbling against a chin.

“That you weren’t wrong. That underneath this city, you can heart the heartbeat of it, just like underneath all of it—all of this noise—I can hear yours. Your heartbeat. Maybe you can’t _actually_ hear my heartbeat—maybe _you_ can’t hear anyone’s—but you can feel it, can’t you?” She can’t help her happy hum of a noise, listening to the overwhelming ruckus of it and falling in love all over again, ”There’s life here, Catherine. _That_ was my first word.”

“Life.” Catherine repeats, turning back around in her arms and watching the city like she’s seeing it for the first time for a few moments before eyes once more meet Kara’s, finger tapping lightly over Kara’s heart, matching the rhythm better than any noise on the street ever could. “Imagine that.”

Blue darts down to parted lips, feeling the warmth of breath curl up against her cheeks like the steam curling from grates a few feet away before their eyes meet, again. And Cat leans up—leans so close that Kara can taste her—and their eyelashes flutter and the world _fades_ , and—

And, for once, it’s not the _Barenaked Ladies_ that interrupts the moment.

It’s a generic ringtone muffled underneath the leather fabric of a clutch and Cat immediately tugs it out to showcase Adam’s name, lighting up the screen with a life of its own, a hint of apology on softened features. But there’s no groan or remorse when Adam is willingly calling his mother, at all, and her arms wrap tighter around a middle, squeezing in encouragement.

“Kara…” Cat breathes, holding up the phone and the nameless tune in a waving gesture— Cat won’t pick a ringtone for her son until she knows him well enough to do him justice, no matter how many suggestions Kara gives her because if there’s one thing she’s darn good at, it’s picking people’s theme songs—and the younger of the two immediately raises her hands in understanding, smile not wavering as she untangles. “I—”

And, wow, Kara could get lost in a look like that far easier than she ever could have been lost in the city. It leaves her breathless and weak and her tongue feels like  _cotton._

“Ah-ah…No declarations, Ms. Grant.” She teases, but her voice rasps at just how close that might actually be when there isn’t an immediate rebuttal, swallowing down the dry sandpaper of her throat when Cat looks stricken for only a moment before her eyes soften.

“Oh, stop enjoying this.”

“No.” Kara smirks past the fire in her chest. “I refuse.”

“Cheeky.”

“Well, I think I might have to be to keep up with—” She leans down and brushes lips over a cheek, a small noise leaving the pit of her stomach when Cat tips upwards to steal any breath she might have hoped to have, kiss consuming and open and knowing. When they break apart, Kara’s knees feel a little weak and her eyes are a little unfocused and she learns her own little life lesson about trying to beat Cat Grant at her own game, “…you?”

“Keep trying.” Cat just smirks, pecking her lips again before she lifts her phone back up to her ear, undoubtedly calling Adam back.

“Gladly.” Kara breathes, a lopsided smile tucking up her lips before she shakes her way out of it, leaning forward to brush lips over a forehead before she pulls away completely. “Tell, um…tell Adam I say hi?”

Cat nods and, amazingly, leans back into the building Kara had just left—into the cool of the shadow without a second thought of germs or the city—and Kara slowly walks backwards, hands pushing into her pockets, not wanting to lose sight of her for a second. Because Catherine’s smile is small and…happy, and it doesn’t matter if she’s in the shade, the sun bouncing off the concrete might light up her features in soft hues of red as the city fades to one singular heartbeat, both of their hands raising in sync in gesture of goodbye.

Cat doesn’t break her gaze until Kara moves into the alley, the sound of her greeting Adam with a happy hum and an apology for missing his call playing first chair to the symphony of the city and when Kara changes and bursts into the sky, sunglasses tucked safely against her chest, the drum of a heartbeat fades and the horns fade and the laughter fades and Catherine talking to Adam fades into the sound of wind rushing by her ears like a waterfall, ultimately landing in front of a familiar, warm home with a smile and heavy feet.

Feet that have to feel heavy because she wants to float through the front door, but the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks is _familiar_ and almost metaphoric, given someone said that very thing to her a few minutes ago, but that seems utterly irrelevant when the front door opens with a wide, happy smile there to always greet her.

“Eliza! I’m so happy to see you, I’m so _sorry_ I missed last week and—”

Kara tugs Eliza into her chest with a beam and tries to ignore the fact that her foster mother looks so _knowing_ when she quietly pulls back when a young nose scrunches underneath a sigh.

“Oh shoot—”

“And you forgot the heavy cream.” Eliza pats her cheek, smile understanding as she wrings her hands in a towel and Kara beams because she’s missed her. “Don’t fly too fast.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The afternoon air cracks underneath the weight of Kara trying to go _not too fast_ and failing miserably, twirling about the afternoon air and setting sun _._

\--

“Reporter.”

Kara says for the second time this week, stance as tall as she can make it in her hall’s familiar warmth, light spilling in from a balcony as Cat just stares at her, their official meeting. But just because Cat knows doesn’t mean Kara doesn’t need to _sell_ it, pacing before she realizes she’s pacing. Each step is perpetuated by a word as she launches into a rant—building her case because she assumes Cat _needs_ a case in order to even consider it, despite _knowing_ it—before sucking in a sharp breath and slowly releasing it through her teeth, shoulders straightening a moment later as she smiles down at her boss to see…

An amused, knowing smile that gives Kara pause because she expected _some_ kind of professional rebuttal.

Without another word, Cat just slowly tugs out her resume and slides it across the table, familiar, unforgiving handwriting covering the black lettering of it.

Because there it is, clear as day, decided and _right_ as Cat Grant always is, almost three years ago.

Kara Danvers: **_REPORTER._**

She says something she’ll never remember as she sags in a familiar chair, eyes slowly looking up at Cat’s smiling, smug eyes as the CEO adjusts silver frames.

Kara only ever adjusts her glasses in nervousness—she’s unfortunately aware of her own tick—but Cat Grant? She adjusts them in _victory_.

“All this time—” A few moments of silence passes before Kara sputters: “You couldn’t have just _told_ me?!”

“And miss you tripping over your feet, going through an existential crisis of agony, and actually having to make an adult decision for yourself? Where’s the fun in that?” Cat’s lips tuck up in the faintest smirk and Kara tries to be indignant and righteous and furious—she does—and manages for all of two seconds before she laughs so hard everyone in the office slowly perks up in their chairs in the pen, nervously eyeing Kara Danvers’ shaking shoulders.

They’re probably worried Cat finally cracked her (Kara knows for a fact that there’s a pool on just when that would happen, Karen has $20 on never and Milo has $50 on her three year anniversary) and Kara laughs so hard that she’s pretty sure Cat finally has.

Consider her cracked.

She wipes an arm underneath her eyes to trail water with it, tipping back and righting her shoulders, smile not falling even as she takes in Cat’s raised eyebrows and spreading smile.

“When do I start?”

“You already have. So…shoo.” The wave of a hand is half-hearted, at best. “Get out of my office.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant.” A sigh of another spatter of laughter, making it to the doorway before a hum catches her attention, turning around at the familiar doorway with spreading fingers.

“And Kara?” Cat smiles—something genuine and dangerously _proud_ that makes Kara’s shoulders spread a little wider underneath the unassuming fabric of a white button-up—and tosses her a fountain pen that Kara catches without a second thought. “Knock ‘em dead.”

Kara beams, thumb running along the line of the pen that she tucks in her pocket with no small amount of reverence.

“Yes, Ms. Grant.”

An hour later, any sense of accomplishment she might have had has flood from her shoulders, replaced with barely-contained fury. She stops by Cat’s desk for only a few moments to drop by a lunch she’d gotten two of out of habit, hissing underneath her breath:

“How the hell did you keep from throwing Perry White out of a window?”

Because all she wants is a chair.

Cat just hums and grabs the coffee before the food, not looking up from her article as smiles, something devilish and a hint villainous that gives Kara pause:

“Who says I didn’t?” She must notice the look on Kara’s face out of the corner of her eye because Cat rolls her eyes and continues, “Women always have to be twice as good, Kara. Snapper is good at his job, so give him a reason to recognize you, just like you gave me. Stop coming in here like a kicked puppy and go be brilliant.”

Kara looks thoughtful for a long moment, eyes flicking over to the couch before settling on Catherine’s focused features, not looking up from her desk for a moment.

“Can I use one of _your_ chairs?”

“You had more of a chance of me going to lunch with Eliza.”

“Oh, so there’s still a chance.” Kara recalls, smiling around the rim of pumpkin spice, inhaling it into full lungs for as long as the limited-coffee will last. “Apparently a chance in, you know…not a good chance. But a chance.”

“I gave you an office. With a chair.”

“Which I am absolutely, totally, completely grateful for. Ecstatic about. But is it…” She leans a little forward, almost conspiratorially, teeth tucking her lower lip like a secret, “Is it…is it bad for me to want Snapper to give me one, too? Well, not an office, but I just…I _want_ that chair.”

“No.” The hum is punctuated by the plastic of a to-go lunch container popping open, cue for a chair to scrape against wood as Kara slides in front of her, nervous and waiting, “That, Kara…” There’s that glint in Cat’s eyes, proud and dangerous and consuming and Kara wets her lips, “That’s called drive.”

Another word for recognition of the ordinary, not-special Kara Danvers. Drive.  

“Drive.” Kara tastes it around a bite of her own lettuce wrap, leaning back in a chair, content to tug up an article she’s editing without a single ounce of encouragement from Snapper while Cat’s pen scratches along the pages.

“You’ll get your chair.” Cat says with so much factual sincerity—like how she’d known Kara would be Supergirl; like how she’d known Kara would be a journalist; like how she’d known Kara would fall hopelessly, endlessly in love with her—and it’s so easy, when Catherine says it like that, for Kara to believe her.

It’s so easy, sitting across from her in this chair, watching Cat idly munch on a lettuce wrap with the morning light brushing along a fashionable pantsuit and soft, content eyes, for Kara to believe in herself.

She’s not getting her chair for Catherine anymore, Kara realizes, smiling as she takes a second bite.

She’s getting it for herself.

\--

The rest of the week is torn between avoiding Alex and avoiding professional death via Snapper.

Tuesday.

“Kara—”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Come _on,_ you—”

“I’m not telling you!” Kara pushes through the large double doors, cape billowing behind her. “I was…I was asked not to tell _anyone_ and out of respect of our relationship, I’m telling…not everyone. Which is you. Okay, I know that sounded bad, but the point is that I’m not telling you. Not because I don't want to, Alex, but because...I'm respecting their wishes.”

“Okay, that hurts. No, you don't get to look at me like that, it does, and I just can't believe  _you_ would fall for the dirty little secr—”

“No!” She whirls around, hands coming up to tense shoulders. “No, no, no it isn’t like that. I promise it isn’t like that. I’m just—this is…” A breath. “It’s temporary?”

“What?” Alex laughs—practically guffaws—and when Kara doesn’t laugh, too, that beautifully stern, protective face falls into something dangerous and serious. “Oh, no-no. No. You do _not_ do—”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t serious, I said it was…it’s…it’s _temporary_ ,” Kara hisses, eyes flitting about as she leans close because she really doesn’t need J’onn to overhear this one, “Temporary. Not… _not._ Double-negative kind of not. Not _not_ serious. It's serious and tempor—”

“Oh my God.” Alex just blinks and somehow that’s worse. “Kara, you couldn’t get through the day when you found out JT and Britney broke up, why would you think—”

“Because I am an adult. Making her own decisions. And I am—I’m not having this conversation—”

She’s done a lot of growing, this week, so she think she’s entitled to a few sure-fire tactics that she knows will work against her sister.

“Right! The adult who is covering her ears so that she doesn’t have to—”

“I can’t hear you!” Kara lies.

“Yes you can, you have super-hear—”

Louder: “I can’t hear you!”

“Kara Zor-El Danvers, you better lower your stupid big hands off your ears right now and—what are you doing? Don’t you—Kara! If you run out of this build—Kara!”

“I’m not running!” Kara taunts, back-pedalling, grabbing Mon-El by the arm when he rounds the corner so that he can be her Daxamite shield, ducking behind him. Hoping her sister won't hit a patient. He continues happily munching on a bag of chips, wordlessly offering one over his shoulder to her. She pops up only to take it because, really, she wouldn’t want to be rude. Through the definitive crackle of a chip: “I’m flying!”

“Oh, is this like…an Earth thing or—okay, Kara, Alex is looking a little scary with the whole…what’s that word? Stalking? Towards me? Want some chips, Alex? They’re…” He turns the bag around before offering it forward with a shrug of a smile, “Original flavor." Through a mouthful of his own: "Whatever that means, they're great.”

“Alex won’t hurt you, Mon-El.”

“Oh, I might hurt him.”

“What? Why are you hurting me?” He flops backwards into Kara, chips scattering onto the floor, something both aliens look a little sad about.

“Because I don’t want your stupid chips, Mon-El, and you're harboring a fugitive who is illegal on the grounds of lying to her sis—”

“Probably. She probably won't hurt you.” Kara amends, a hint of guilt swelling her chest for using her fellow alien as a shield. It’s a very un-Kryptonian thing to do, after all. So she pulls him behind her, instead, as her sister does the stalking thing, as Mon-El so eloquently put it. She thinks better of it when Alex raises a finger that could wag Rao into submission. “Gotta go! Fire!”

“Kara!”

“Fire!”

Kara has no idea if there’s a fire. If there isn’t, she’ll just set one herself. In her apartment.

With baking.

Lots and lots of baking.

She flies off of the balcony to the sound of Alex’s frustrated growl underlined by Mon-El’s happy chewing, picking up a few of the chips and popping them into his mouth.

\--

Wednesday.

“Danvers!” Snapper bellows and Kara groans—bangs her head on Eve’s desk because the graceful assistant had let her borrow it for _just_ a moment for her to have something to lean against because her pen kept poking through the edges of the page on her knees (and with Winn no longer working here, she can’t use someone’s back). “This is _crap_ or do you just think that’s the natural smell in the air since you came from the backwaters of—”

Kara doesn’t really hear the rest of it because she’s too busy ostriching herself into a desk, pounding her forehead against it. This is the only desk in CatCo that's been fortified with enough steel for her head not to make a dent, so she takes advantage. From the look on Snapper’s face, he doesn’t really care, either. But she can feel Cat’s eyes on her—can feel all of their eyes on her—and she tightens her shoulders, standing with an intentionally easy smile honed underneath the fires of a roar sparking _Kiera_ every five minutes years ago.

Curling fingers snap the article from his hands, beaming because it won’t bother her. It won’t.

She won't let it, damn it.

And…okay, maybe she knows the smile bugs him worse than anything she could ever say. It's a small, happy, petty victory and she's not above stooping to it.

“I’ll show you crap.” Kara pauses—shuffles her glasses, “Because you will…objectively be able to say that this is _not_ crap when I am done with this. And everything else will be crap compared to this, which you will look at and understand that that is _not_ —” She huffs and Snapper doesn’t move an inch, just slowly raising his mug up to his lips. The sound of frustration that leaves her lips might dampen the smile, a little, “I’ll show you not crap!”

It’s a vow, stamping past him back over to her corner where she can work up against a wall out of Cat’s sight and Snapper’s.

Because, one day, she’ll have a _chair._

\--

Thursday.

“I’m _happy_ , Alex—”

“Happy with someone who doesn’t even want to acknowledge your relationship or—”

“That’s not what I said and happy.”

“Kar—”

“Happy!”

Kara hangs up the phone and five minutes later Catherine is telling her she won’t press Snapper for her—telling her to be brilliant—and for all of the next five minutes Kara forgets because Cat doesn’t look like she’s pulling back from the company, at all. Cat looks as much the CEO as she always has, and it shows, because neither one of them know how to pull back.

Kara only remembers after she asks Cat if she’s dying and tugs a pillow up to her chest and Catherine does her impassioned speech thing and shoulders tighten throughout...but when she whirls back around, Kara's shoulders are straightened with the last name _Danvers_ , not _Zor-El_.

“You want that chair, Kara.” Cat reminds, calling after her, and Kara flicks the edge of the article she’d brought in with her, determined.

“I want that chair.”

It’s something she repeats to herself when she’s covered in alien goop an hour later, Alex smirking as she wipes a handful of it out of her sister’s eyes and onto the floor.

She hums a song to herself and forgets where it’s from underneath the sunlamp as Alex pauses, brows knitting—

“What is that?”

“Huh?” Kara shakes her head, pulling a brush through locks that are fortunately alien-goop free after a quick super-speed shower. She hadn’t realized she was singing and it takes her a few seconds to repeat—

“ _A chair is still a chair…even when no one’s sitting there—”_

Alex hums along, brows knitting, like she still can’t place it—

“ _A chair is not a house and a house is not a home—”_

“When there’s no one to hold you tight—and there’s no one to kiss you goodnight.” Alex snaps her fingers, “Oh, that’s right. I know that one."

The song settles on her chest like all of Fort Rozz had pressed against her biceps--like the atmosphere burns in her lungs.

She wants that chair.

"What?”

Kara pauses, blinking at her reflection. “Nothing.”

A chair is not a house and a house is not a home--

“Is that the you’re finally telling me face?” Alex says after Kara spends five minutes blinking at herself.

“No!”

Alex's lips twitch upwards.

\--

Friday.

“Ms. Grant!” Kara tries, pleading and hopeful and _begging_ in a way that she knows she’ll hear for a very, very long time.

“Oh, no-no, you’re not using _me_ as your excuse, perky.” Cat raises both hands as she strides past the pair, sunglasses in place despite being in the office.

“Yeah, _perky_ ,” Alex agrees, cornering her sister against her desk in a way that makes Kara’s glasses jumble as she hops backwards against it, trying not to nervously stutter. There's that glint in her eyes, amused and endless and this is not how this lunch should go.

“Wh—hey! Don’t—stop giving me your federal agent glower thing.”

“I will when you tell me what’s—”

Kara slides underneath her sister’s arm and hops—skips, maybe—sliding after her ex-boss-slash-lover with a hopeful yelp.

“But, Ms. Grant, we had that meeti—”

“Nope.” Cat doesn’t look up from her power-stride, Eve scrambling next to her.

“Nope what?” Eve breathes—she looks like she’s been trying to breathe for miles and Kara wonders where they’ve been power-striding from (idly hopes that Cat didn’t make Eve run suicides up and down the stairs, again, to exercise her physical fitness for duty)—offering up a latte to the media-goddess.

“Nope that Cat isn’t going to save your ass, this time, Kara.” Alex supplies, only a step behind them.

“I don’t save asses. I don’t hold fake meetings. I don’t placate assistants who cannot keep _up_ with me, _Miss_ Teschmacher—”

“Sorry, Ms. Grant,” Eve wheezes and Kara pauses to pat her friend on the back, plucking up a water bottle from a nearby desk (unopened—it’s not stealing if she puts another one right back there) and handing it to her. The grateful look is enough to make the small misdemeanor worth it.

“Stop helping her, Kara.” Cat snaps.

“Sorry, Ms. Grant.”

“Wait, why am I following all of you?” Alex finally asks, tugging on Kara’s wrist, junior reporter groaning.

“Because Kara was hoping you wouldn’t notice, obviously--talk it out, hug it out, fight it out, whatever it is you two do, but leave  _me_ out of it and grow a pair or grow up, ladies!” Cat snaps over her shoulder, not stopping as she makes her way into her office and Alex tugs a still-groaning super-sister into the nearby empty conference room, a sea of glass between Kara and her only hope.

Her only hope does not look intent upon helping, let alone offering support, getting to work in the office next to them.

“Yeah, grow up, Kara.” Alex punches her shoulder—light enough to not hurt her own hand, years of experience—lightness paving way to seriousness, “Am I seriously going to have to food coma this out of you? Why don’t you want to tell me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, Alex, I do.” Kara sighs, brows knitting and a crease running between them, reaching up to catch her sister’s hand. “But there’s…okay, I’m not going to lie.”

“You better not.” Alex squeezes her hand, though, “I don’t…I guess I just…don’t get why you haven’t told me. I mean…we’re not—” Alex shuffles, pulling away and crossing arms over her chest, “We’re okay, right?”

“What?” Kara blinks, guilt welling, immediately tugging her sister closer. “The only reason I haven’t—there’s just…there’s nothing to tell. Not really. Not…not yet. I mean, there’s a lot to tell, but nothing to tell, yet.” Kara repeats—rephrases—reaches up to curl fingers around biceps. “No, the truth, Alex…” Kara’s hands fall down to her sides, eyes flicking up to the impassive face of her boss across the way, leaning against her desk in her office, trying to look like she's not listening. “The truth was that it was one of the best weekends of my life, Alex. If not the singular best, including that time last year when I saved that Twinkie truck from a fire and they gave me all of them because they were worried the heat would make that expiration date slightly questionable.”

It’s as much of a joke as it isn’t and she can see Cat duck her chin out of the corner of her eye, hand raising below her nose to hide a hint of a smile before the CEO clears her throat.

“You couldn’t walk for like a week after that,” Alex waves a hand, stepping closer, stepping closer when that same hand falls down to her hip, shoulders rolling forward. Kara doesn’t think it would help to point out that she’s pretty sure if she didn’t have her powers she wouldn’t have been able to walk this week, either. But Alex’s gross-face wouldn’t be worth the massive blush her own factual bravado might cause and the quips Cat would make for a week. “You’re seriously trying to tell me that it was just—"

“A _weekend_ , Alex.” Kara presses, once more shooting Cat a pleading look over her sister’s shoulder.

Cat, who just makes a show of plucking up the pen from Eve’s hands, the blonde’s stuttered protests echoing down the hall, free hand slowly raising up in a stopping motion between them, stemming any of her current assistant’s protests.

“And you’re trying to say that your heart wasn’t in it? You. My sister. That you don’t want more—”

They're both broken records.

“That’s not what I said, Alex. My heart was in it. All of my heart was in it. All I said was that…it was a weekend. And the weekend is over, and that I’m _happy_ and that…” A breath, turning from the windows and the look in Cat’s eyes to focus on her wonderful, overprotective, unknowing sister. “And that I promised them that I wouldn’t say anything. To anyone. Even you, Alex. It’s—it was a weekend. A wonderful, beautiful weekend that I _needed_ , and now…it’s not the weekend. And I’m still happy. And I’m okay. And I’m not telling you anything about it, not until they—”

The sound of a pen landing in front of the door causes two sets of trained ears to perk, looking towards it, both of them reflexively leaning into each other from years of explosives and bullets and alien goop heading their way.

Kara’s smile spreads into a relieved beam.

“I can’t believe she’s bailing you out.” Alex grouses, frowning, twisting around towards the open office of glass that Cat’s returned to, looking utterly bored as the small stature sucks up all of the air in the entire building into her lungs and—

“Kara!”  

“God, I love her.” Kara mumbles, unknowing of the rushed, breathless thing that tumbles out of her lips, immediately stumbling out of the office, snatching up the pen with a victorious, lopsided smile.

“She won’t save you next time!” Alex calls after her and Kara begs to differ when she skids into Cat’s office, passing Eve chugging water at her desk, Cat’s amused eyebrows raising up into her hairline.

“I believe you threw Eve’s…pen?” She holds it up between them, beaming, “Ms. Grant?” Making sure her back is to the glass as she mouths a wide _thank you_ because it’s worth the relentless teasing—she can see the words practically _curling_ on Cat’s lips—biting her lip when fingers skim along her own to take it back.

“Yes, I suppose I just felt this overwhelming urge to throw something in your general direction like a harpoon...” Cat hums, eyes flicking towards Alex even though Kara’s don’t stray, fingers tenting in front of her hips, between them. “Or a lifeline.”

“Have I ever told you that you are absolutely, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met?” Kara whispers, beaming, and Cat just smirks, walking around towards her desk.

“Multiple times,” But the way that smirk spreads means it’s always wanted, Kara knows, “Each truer than the last. But we’re both aware of the fact that I’m a fine wine, success, class, and beauty increasing each delicate year that ticks by. But there’s no point to ooh’ing and awe’ing over a fine wine, Kara, it _does_ take taste to appreciate it. Taste. Can you imagine it? A slow, knowing, tasting tongue. Curling, parting lips. Red staining teeth as the fine wine  _puddles_  in your mou—”

Kara sucks in a shaky breath through her teeth, hands curling tighter in her lap.

“You’re doing this because my sister is staring at me through the window, aren’t you?” It’s a shaky realization, hopeless and pleading in her eyes, and Cat’s smirk shows absolutely no remorse. "None of that makes sense for wine, you're just saying words to--"

“Oh, don’t be demure. I could make it far more graphic, if you’d lik—”

“No!” Kara resists the very childish urge to plug her ears with her hands, clearing her throat and tugging out her blouse by her suddenly tight chest, fanning herself a little before shuffling her glasses, remembering they’re in the office and—”No, Ms. Grant, I appreciate the offer but why don’t I—Eve looks indisposed, so I think I’ll…jump off your balcony and go get you a lettuce wrap. Jumping off the balcony sounds great.”

“Oh, very mature. Jump off the balcony away from your problems.” Cat looks down, sliding glasses onto her nose, “Not your job. Go be useful elsewhere, Kara.”

“I—”

“And tell her to stop staring at us. I feel interrogated, and if I feel interrogated, I get wrinkles.” Kara turns towards her sister, whose eyes are slit, one foot tapping as she scowls and she’s never missed or loved her more. "You were right, she's nothing if not persistent."

 "She's worried." It's an immediate defense and Kara doesn't have to point out that her sister might have right to be.

A beat, Catherine sighing, “She loves you.”

“Yeah. She’s the best.” Kara thoughtlessly—emphatically—agrees, smiling towards her sister’s unwavering scowl, blinking back a hint of moisture.

“You surround yourself with the best.” It’s a thoughtful hum and Kara hears Cat lean back into her chair—probably running both fingers along the tips of edges of that very pen she'd stolen.

“Well, someone told me once, that in order to rise above others, I didn’t need to push them down. Rise up above naturally.” Kara turns back towards familiar eyes, smiling, “If I surround myself with the best, _they’re_ my pillars to rising above, I think. My shoulders to climb on. El Mayarah.”

“My, my, something that's not a quote.”

“Nope.” Kara turns back towards her sister and nods towards the door, not running, “That one’s all me.” A moment, turning back around, “I won’t tell her but…you want to get lunch? Just…just the three of us?”

“Kara, I—” Catherine sighs—tenses—and there’s that pen, stressed in its taut perch by two very white thumbs.

“You can say no, Catherine. It was just…” A sigh—a smile, “Just an offer.”

And Cat looks like she might take it, for a moment, before she shakes her head, setting the pen down on the desk between them.

Kara hears Alex’s footsteps settle at the doorway and there’s a certain strength to that—there’s always a certain strength to that, knowing her sister is at her back, no matter the distance.

“You sure? I won’t even mention Chipotle, Cat, cross my heart.”

“If you did, the second half of that sentence wouldn’t be _hope_ to die, Kara. No Chipotle." But there’s that smirk, lighter than it was before, both of them sharing a look she can’t help— “But…pick me up that lettuce wrap, would you? Eve looks like she’s about to pass out.”—those eyes are back down on the desk, always working, always ready, Kara sucking breath in her chest and turning on her heel, patting Eve’s hand as she makes it out to the office.

The ex-assistant wonders how long it will take Eve to realize that Cat asking Kara to pick up lunch is a sign of caring, at all. Carefully hidden behind harsh words and harsher eyes, the fire that tempers a diamond. It took Kara years. 

Eve squeezes her fingers, head taking the brief respite of Kara standing in front of her line of sight for her head to pound on the desk.

“You okay there, Ms. Teschmacher?” Alex’s brows knit and the assistant just nods from the desk, the somewhat-doctor's eyes remaining concerned. 

“We’ll bring you back some food.” Kara pats her head, endlessly sympathetic, Eve grumbling into the wood:

“Could you bring me back your washboard abs and the freakishly superhuman ability to physically keep up with Cat Grant, instead?”

“The best I can do is a hamburger, Eve.”

“Okay.” Eve pops her chin up and smiles, a hint of levity tucking up her eyes, “Thank you, Kara. Good egg. Oh, and uh—oh, the sister?”

“The sister.” Alex waves her hands out in gesture, smiling, “Alex.”

“Alex!” Eve snaps her fingers in recognition, “Sorry, Kara must’ve said your name thousands of times and I just—Oh, I’ve heard wonderful stories about you.”

“She’s the best.” Kara offers, nudging her sister’s shoulder, both of them sharing a small hint of a smile as Alex shakes Eve’s hand, shoulders easing a little and Kara is so glad to hear that heartbeat.

“Nice to meet you. Normally she just tells people the horror stories.”

“Oh, I told her those too. Hey, Eve, did I ever tell you about the time Alex filled up our dad’s car with—”

“Aaaand we’re going.” Alex shoves her shoulder and Kara laughs and prods her side before Alex forcefully takes her arm, dragging her towards the elevator’s. She catches sight of Catherine out of the corner of her eye, those glasses slid low on the bridge of her nose, a hint of the smallest smile brushing up the edges of her lips, amused and…soft.

The light catches her hair and her chin tips back and Kara smiles back before turning down towards her sister, smiling down at her familiar frown.

“Come on,” Kara offers, tugging her closer, arm wrapping around her shoulders, “Let’s get lunch. My treat—”

And she hears it, across the office once they get to the elevators—

“Well, Eve, Metropolis didn’t wear Cat down. Nothing will, so game face, Teschmacher. You get in there and you—”

“Ms. Teschmacher!”

Scrambling that makes Kara smile as she presses the floor, missing the curious look on Alex’s features, like maybe she’d heard it, too, before ushering her sister inside.

“Coming!”

“So…just a weekend, huh?” Alex finally says when the doors close, surprisingly just them in the middle of lunch on a Friday, the world hustling and bustling in news around them. The elevator rattles and Kara’s struck by the phantom memory of last week, of standing here with Winn, and when she lets out a breath, it rattles just like the elevator does. The elevator keeps moving, but her breath slowly dies out, and Kara swallows, smile easing from bright to understanding—to resigned—to something that quakes on the edges of her teeth, hiding them from sight.

“Yeah. Just…” Another breath, ignoring the burn of her sister’s eyes on her jaw, curious and quiet and protective and Kara swallows—nods—and straightens her shoulders, because she _knows_. Kara _knows_ what she looks like, right now and she’s glad that the metal obscures the sad tuck of a smile on her lips like a sea of mercury, blurred and distorted. “Just a weekend, Alex.”

The elevator opens to a bright lobby and Kara tugs her sister closer, wrapping fingers around an arm, and if it’s closer than it needs to be, Alex doesn’t comment as they make their way onto National City’s familiar, well-worn streets.

The sounds of it settle on Kara’s shoulders like a blanket wrapped around an infant before it hurtled into the unknown.

“Just a weekend.”

Kara hums that same song all the way to lunch.

_A house is not a home, and a home is not a house--_

Alex doesn’t ask any more questions and Kara’s too glad to wonder why.

\--

Saturday.

They’re through their lesson when it happens, Kara hanging up the phone, Alex's face fading to black when some inconsequential noise outside rattles through the windows. Catherine’s apartment is practically sound-proof, but the car backfiring (Kara slides down her glasses to double-check) tightens all of Carter’s spine into an irreversible coil.

His breath quickens. His fingers tighten. His pupils dilate and he—

This isn’t the first time Kara’s seen this, over the course of a year, and she finally scoots closer on the couch, breath catching painfully against her chesk.

“Hey, Carter.” Kara gently prods, leaning forward, hands hovering over his wrists until he blinks—focuses—turns to look up into familiar eyes. “Do you want to learn a trick my sister taught me when I was young?”

“A trick?” Brows barely knit, fingers clenching a little against the denim on his knees and Kara just smiles, hands still hovering.

“Yeah, a trick.” A nod. “To help things go quiet for a little while. I know sometimes it’s a little hard to...take everything in, sometimes.”

“For you, too? My doctor says…” He shrugs shoulders a little, body slackening, trailing off.

“Oh, yeah.” Her smile is thoughtlessly encouraging—empathetic—leaning closer but not closing the distance in a way that isn’t nearly as thoughtless. “When I was first adopted, my sister figured out that I couldn’t really focus. Everything felt like it was too much—so much, all the time—and I would get overwhelmed really easily.” Kara gently explains until Carter looks back up, gesturing down towards their hands. “Can I?”

“W—oh.” A tongue darting over lips. A quickening pulse. A shallow breath but, at the end of all of it, a nod. “Yeah, sure. It doesn’t bug me.”

“It’s okay if it does.” It’s a gentle recognition and he shrugs one shoulder, this time, smile hesitant but sincere.

“You don’t bug me.”

“Okay. So whenever I started freaking out,” A beat, rephrasing because she doesn’t want him to feel badly about it, “Whenever, um…things started to become too much and I couldn’t focus, whenever I was somewhere I didn’t want to be and I felt like the space was too small, she showed me something...she would lift my hands up over my eyes…” Kara gently lifts Carter’s hands until they’re over blinking lashes, listening to his heart quietly spike. “It’s okay, take a deep breath. Press them gently down, kind of like a feather landing on your pillow. That okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” He lets out a small breath, gentler, heart still fast but shoulders easing. “Yeah.”

“So, did you know that if your eyeballs move, that means that you’re about to start thinking? Or that you’re thinking?”

“Really?” His shoulders ease a little more, a hint of intelligent excitement lacing his tone.

“So keep your eyes closed, with your hands over them—press lightly…”

“Okay.”

“Now focus on keeping your eyes on one spot.”

“Okay.”

Silence stretches between them and she watches the tension melt from his spine, breathing naturally becoming a little more mindful, fingers slackening just the slightest, and Kara smiles when she feels him relax against her hands.

“Now you’re in control. You’re not thinking, anymore, so you can start fresh—you can focus on what you want to.”

“Oh.” He laughs a little, hands falling from eyes to showcase a spreading smile, excited and youthful and unburdened, for a few seconds, until he seems to notice himself, shuffling a little in his seat, fingers curling in the sleeve coating a palm, tugging hands away from Kara’s grip. “You’re right. It’s not so bad.”

“And eventually, if you practice at it, you can learn to focus on one spot with your eyes open and filter out noises and sounds and…” She shakes her head—shrugs one shoulder, herself. “Anything else. You know, I, um…” A breath of her own, as well, smiling as she quietly admits, “I still get scared sometimes in tight spaces?”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” His head cocks to the side, other hand brushing along fibers of a sleeve, playing along with the twined web of textile beneath his thumb. “I mean, why do you get scared?”

“I was…” A chin dips, smile spreading to protect Carter from the quiet quiver of it more than anything else, “I was in tight spaces for a really long time when I was a kid. Before I went to live with my foster parents.”

“Oh, really?” A hint more of excitement because he’s old enough to understand fear but thankfully young enough to be sheltered from it, “If you tell me jail, I’m not gonna believe you, Kara, come on. Like you could ever do anything illegal, you’re way too nice.”

Kara laughs, “No. Nothing like that. But, um…” When she breathes in, again, it spreads out her shoulders even when fingers shuffle glasses, “I guess it stayed with me for a long time.”

“So you’re claustrophobic.” Carter notes, A little shy, waving between their hands, and Kara idly wonders when a kid learns the word claustrophobic—if he’s too old or too young—wonders if he learned it from television or if maybe Cat made a quip, one day, that inquisitive, bright eyes clung to. “And this...helps?”

“Everytime. Eventually you’ll learn more about what calms you down, too. And you’ll learn how to focus without your hands, too. But sometimes, when it’s really bad and there’s no one else around, I still do it.”

“Thanks, Kara.” Carter’s murmur is young and vulnerable and Kara reaches over to curl fingers over a shoulder, gently squeezing, a boyish shoulder leaning into her in familiarity.

“Don’t thank me, thank Alex.” She winks, “She’s sort of like your honorary big sister, too.”

Carter laughs but smiles before he hops over to the couch, dragging her over to plop down next to him, shoving a controller in her hands and Kara _beams_.

“Oh, it’s on.”  

Three hours later, Cat comes through the door with bags and sunglasses, phone glued to her ear as she makes her way into the kitchen, clattering from cabinets loud and persistent, the jostle of groceries lost underneath a tone that brokers no argument. Her voice is sharp and knowing—commanding and captivating—and when she rounds the corner she stops at the sight of Carter, his fingers curling in his jeans, controller set to the side as Kara immediately moves behind him.

“I—I, um—” His blink is owlish and his breath is ragged and she hears his heart quicken as he curls a little on himself.  

“Shh,” Kara gently notes in his ear, eyes watching everything in Cat’s demeanor shift—change—soften at the familiar sight of her son’s shoulders tightening. The phone is immediately discarded with a curt goodbye, heels clicking as Kara watches the debate over familiar features—rush forward or keep the space between them—and Kara just leans over the couch, hand curling around his shoulder.

“I s-should—” He stutters, jaw clenching—breath sharp.

“Hey, buddy. Just try it.”

Amazingly, he does.

His hands slam up to his eyelids and Kara just raises a hand up to Cat in plea when her mouth opens, a sharp noise probably continuing on a tongue—an insult or defensive barb—and miraculously, the older woman’s lips part but no sound comes forth, dark eyes searching the plane between them.

A slow breath rolls through Carter’s chest—fills his lungs—and Kara straightens, turning in the same direction as the young boy, raising her own hands to her eyes, counting out loud to his breath, making a show of sucking it through her nose. “In—one, two, three, four…” A beat, watching his shoulders from behind the slim sliver of light between her palm, “Out—one, two, three, four, five….” Blowing the breath out from her mouth. “Now open your eyes and focus…”

Her hands fall, staring straight ahead, not having to look over to see Carter doing the same thing.

A slow moment, his heartbeat evening—

“Holy shit, it works!” Carter perks up, Kara reaching over to ruffle his hair, the sound of his laughter lighting up the small space.

“Language!” Cat snaps from the wall, but there’s no bite to her tongue, both of them watching as Carter sheepishly shrugs.

“Sorry.”

He’s obviously not, kicking off of the couch to run up to his room without a word, a flurry of pitter patter as his door slams in excitement down the hall, Kara looking up at her boss with an easy smile, lowering knees and bare feet from the couch.

“What the fuck was that?” Cat asks, but her tone is anything but angry—reserved, quiet, surprised.

“I’m guessing there’s no point in saying ‘language’?” Kara raises one shoulder, immediately hopping up to retrieve the rest of the groceries from Cat’s grasp the moment she spots them. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, I was so focused on Carter, I didn’t realize you—”

“Kara.” Cat lays a now-free hand on Kara’s shoulder—gentler, serious—still staring at that spot on the couch like she just watched Superman give an expose on his not-so-secret identity. “No one’s ever gotten him to meditate. The Dalai Lama couldn’t get him to sit still for _twenty minutes_ in McLeod Ganj, last year.”

There's a long pause.

“...You…you took Carter to meet the Dalai—?” The sharp cut of dark eyes back over to Kara is enough for the younger of the two to raise her hands and promptly shut up, sure that that's a story for another day. A story she wants, because she decidedly does not remember arranging travel for the Grants last year to McLeod Ganj. She’s not even sure _how_ people get to McLeod Ganj. “Right, like that's a completely normal thing that happens everyday. Just…meeting the Dalai Lama. Right. Totally. And it—that wasn't meditation. Not...really.”

Kara remembers a far-away planet, lessons of tucked knees and focus. Strict eyes and impatient fingers. They had never gotten her to meditate, either, when she was young.

Cat looks skeptical.

“I just got him to focus, is all.” Kara shrugs a shoulder in a near mirror of Carter an hour before, sheepish smile spreading, free hand raising to shift glasses on the bridge of a nose despite the crinkle of plastic. She’s managed to pile all of Cat’s groceries into one hand with little effort, the weight not tipping her shoulder in the least and it’s…nice in a way she doesn’t think to recognize, anymore. A dangerous, comfortable complacency, because it's a careless thing to not have to worry about anymore, in the pleasant light of a kitchen she's spent more time in, lately, than her own, because that sense of comfortability in her own skin feels lighter than carrying the burden of groceries ever will. “It always helped for me. I figured it would—”

Her breath catches at the familiar scent of perfume, fingers curling tighter into plastic.

“Thank you.” Cat leans forward, lips brushing Kara’s in gratitude, the blonde blinking, eyes flicking down the hall out of habit before settling on the older woman, a hint of nerves on her tongue.

“You don’t have to thank me, Cat.” Kara murmurs, nose ducking, a little bashful, but the smile that spreads isn't one she'd even bother trying to hide. “I’d do anything for Carter.”

“I know.” When Kara looks up, there’s something far more serious in Cat’s gaze—something endless that makes her chest tight and lips dry—makes her focus on a single point, herself, to keep from vibrating out of her own skin. And that point is decidedly very warm, very familiar lips. “I’m sure you don’t still need a map to put those up, do you?” Cat quips, but follows her to the kitchen, regardless, helping unravel bags and put them up, their shoulders brushing as Kara reaches for the highest shelf, a small, shared smile between them.

“I think I can manage.”

When all of the cabinets are closed and groceries tucked, Kara's smile only spreads when fingers hook in the loop of her jeans, letting herself be tugged and pulled against familiar hips, arms coming up to anchor Cat against the island. Her eyelashes flutter when such gentle, knowing fingers slowly slip glasses down the bridge of flaring nostrils, a measured breath catching on the edge of parting lips. It's always a mental shift—always brows knitting as she concentrates, for just a moment, as she prepares herself for the quiet influx of sounds. It doesn't assault her like they used to, but it's enough.

Because for a second she sees everything. The building across the street and the steel girders built to withstand the strong gusts of wind that beat against them in a storm. The paint chipping on the third story as a mother tucks hands around a child and lifts them from a bassinet. Closer, the frame of a ceiling—the water pipes creaking from use from a shower upstairs—the shuffle of a book in Carter's room, a comic.

 _Superman_ , of course.

Catherine's eyes. The part of her lips. The shine of lipstick so carefully applied. The colors of her smile that only Kara can see as eyelashes flutter, skin warning as she steps closer.

She focuses on the quiet hum from lips as Catherine's fingers gently slide down the crease between brows that's found a momentary home without their shield. She focuses on the way the sunlight paints the gold into blonde hair as it falls down around a chin from the movement of sliding down glasses. She focuses on the beat of that beautiful melody against her lover’s chest and feels a slow smile spread across her lips.

All of it lasts only a second, at most, until all Kara sees in the world is Catherine, leaning into warmth as the fingers holding lead skim along a cheek.

“Hi.” Kara breathes and before she can think anything of it, leans down to kiss her again, soft and lingering. The sound of glasses being set aside on the island lost amidst the feeling of breath against her smile.

“I didn't say that before, did I.” It's a casual, amused afterthought caught between the teeth tempering a smile.

“Well, I'm sure _a lot_ of cultures…” Brows knit further as a laugh breaks between them from Kara’s lips, happy tone changing from helpful to teasing, “Probably do not consider 'what the fuck was that’ to be a hello, so...nope. You did not do that. The saying hello thing.”

“I'm sure you're devastated.” It's dry in front of a barely held laugh because Kara can hear it—can see the way the muscles of her cheek flex and her throat barely bobs from the weight of it—and when Cat leans up to brush lips over closed eyes, the breath rattles on an inhale between Kara's teeth.

“You could always say hi, now.” Kara offers, pressing closer into her against an overly-extravagant island, hands smoothing up from granite to splay in the small of a back.

“I've already made my entrance and it—” Cat raises a hand up between them in a very firm point.

“As with _all_ of your entrances.” Kara helpfully supplies, happy to see lips twitch upwards in a smile before continuing.

“Was flawless.” Cat's pointed finger falls down to skim along the dip of fabric along Kara's neck, drumming two fingers on a quick heart as they both share a small laugh.

“Of course.”

“Hi.” It's soft—gentle—and Catherine leans up to kiss her, again, and Kara wonders if knowing fingers can feel her heart patter like restless raindrops against a window pane when she does. “Can you show me?” She asks after a long moment of the sun settling between them, easy and quiet. Kara doesn't have much time to offer a confused look before it's cut off, “What you showed Carter.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I just—” So Kara does. She quietly spins Cat around, the other woman following without much thought, body sliding up behind her like she had in the busied streets of Metropolis, pointing to a nearby painting on the wall as she explains what she told Carter.

Before long, Catherine slowly lowers her own palms from her eyes, blinking owlishly towards the light from the window as she does, listening intently.

“—so like I said, it's not really meditating. It's just...focusing.” Kara supplies with a shrug of a gesture as Cat nods, a hint of nervousness tucking up lips because this isn’t a presentation—it isn’t a pitch—and there’s a hint of that CEO ear perked up, sure, but there’s something that makes her far more nervous than the enterprising mastermind behind the largest media corporation in the world—Cat Grant the mother. Cat Grant the mother always throws her whole being into anything revolving around her son that Kara still gets a little nervous, sometimes, and right now that mother is looking at Kara like all of her livelihood—her real livelihood, not the company or the stocks or the stories—is tied up like knots on her ex-assistant’s tongue.

Cat Grant in general, actually, still makes her nervous, sometimes, and Kara has no real measure to know whether or not she's supposed to.

“It's similar to what one of his doctors has been trying to get through to him.” A quiet voice finally supplies and Kara nods in response. Sometimes it needs to be said in the right way—the right time--and Kara's sure she just lucked out.

“I'm just happy I could help.

“Of course you are.” But it's said with such a quiet fondness from Cat's lips that Kara's nervous smile turns sheepish.

“I…hope I didn’t over-step—”

Cat just waves a hand and just like that, the last of Kara’s nervousness floods away.

“Why did you learn?”

The question causes a slight pause, Kara leaning back against the nearby cabinets to search dark eyes. It's felt so natural, the course of things, that Kara hasn't had time to realize that Catherine hasn't pushed, at all.

Not about the unspoken subject that, in all facets of Kara's life, tends to remain unspoken.

“I…” She clears her throat and laughs a little at the surprise in her chest, arms crossing as she nods. “Well...supervision, like everyone likes to call it, isn't actually...all that super.” A hint of a self-deprecating laugh. “I...see things. I see everything. It was worse before I used to be able to focus. I mean, imagine being able to see your nose 24/7 even with your eyes closed, but imagine that your nose is actually...everything.” Bare feet pad closer along the cool tile of a kitchen. “People's bones, if I wanted, which I never did. The worms in the ground I was standing on or...everything beneath it for miles. That, coupled with all of the _noises_ ” It's a bit of a strained laugh, Kara's hand rubbing at her bicep like she knows what cold is, anymore. She did, last week. She’s starting to recognize it more and more, but she knows what warmth is, these days, too. “It was information overload for thirteen-year-old me. I think that's why I loved the roof so much, before Jeremiah made me my glasses. All I could see for miles and miles, when I looked up, were the stars. It felt like home.”

But Kara has said too much, nervously backpedaling as she raises a hand, barely stumbling over the words, but it's a stumble nonetheless.

“Not that...you asked that. I just—”

“Is that what happens every time I take off your glasses?” Cats voice is gentler than it should be and Kara's breath catches when she feels fingers gently tuck up her chin, eyes searching and quiet and serious in a way that makes her swallow down the fluttering birds in her chest.

“Just for a second.” Kara admits. “For a second, I see…” A shaking head, useless to describe it with a faint, pittering laugh, “The world.”

“So what do you see now?” It's curious and Kara's smile spreads across her cheeks.

“I still see the world.” She murmurs, voice quiet—honest—leaning into warm hands, “But all I see is you.”

Catherine sucks a sharp breath through her teeth but Kara knows better, now, than she would have six months ago. She knows it in the way Cat's fingers barely—barely—tremble underneath her chin and her shoulders tense underneath the weight of that breath. She knows it in the way her eyes lightly sheen underneath apartment lights, that golden sun hair still curling around a jaw that vibrates with a quiver.

Kara's fingers gently come up to brush along the line of it—to chase an earthquake with her lips as she leans forward and quietly brushes a soft kiss along the ridge of the strongest fault line she's ever seen.

“Kara.” Catherine breathes in her ears as her fingers curl in the nape of the shirt whose edges she'd been tracing. “You really should not say every dangerous, ridiculously cheesy thing that comes to mind.” The protest is weak, even as a nose nuzzles the edge of an ear, eyelashes fluttering as Kara takes in that same scent of perfume and ink.

“I don't.” She argues, arms wrapping around a waist as a body settles against her. “...probably. I don't say at least 98% of what I'm thinking.” There it is, the faintest flicker of a smile pressing against her neck. So Kara pushes on, anyways, regardless of that ever imminent danger of being thrown off of one of Cat's many balconies. “I'm an honest person, Ms. Grant. You can't fault me for being honest.”

“No.” That smile brushes along the underside of Kara's jaw in a gentle kiss that makes her knees a little weak. “I guess not.”

“I am…” Kara breathes, hands sliding up to shoulders, holding Catherine close. Admitting in her ear as she watches the sun flicker along the painting she'd pointed at minutes before. “I'm still learning to adjust to our rules and then something like this comes along, this whole...open in your kitchen with Carter down the hall in broad daylight, wonderful,  _wonderful_ thing.” She explains. “And I've been telling Alex all week that it was just a weekend when it _wasn't._ I know what we said but it...we have to admit it wasn't, Catherine. And I'm so...scared,” A faint laugh, “To say anything because the last thing I want is you trying to make us more disposable. But you can't blame me for being honest when we're...we’re on a very thin or arguably non-existent line, Cat.”

Catherine pulls back and Kara watches the war on her lips between pulling thin or crumbling into something else entirely with baited breath, so she untangles her hand to cup a cheek, leaning a little closer.

“I'm not trying to ask anything of you.” Kara quietly notes and gently smooths fingers down a shoulder until the muscle eases. “I just—”

“No. No, that’s…that’s fair.” Cat sighs, “I saw you with Carter and I—” She moves to pull away and gives Kara a look when she doesn't let her.

“I don't think you understand, Catherine. I'm...trying to follow the rules you gave me so that I can still keep you. Because part of me agrees with you, that I'm supposed to be a hero and do the selfless thing. I know the lines are blurring and this is the first time since I've been here that I'm starting to wonder if all of these rules aren't…” A shuddering breath of a noise, trying to _explain—_ “If there's any rules that—that could—”

“Kara.” Catherine shushes with her lips, wordlessly tugging a sagging from backwards until they’re both tangled against the island. “Kara.” A sadder, breathless noise, their noses brushing as arms wrap around a waist, kissing her harder so that it might not be so desperate, but it is. It’s desperate and only grows more and more desperate by the second until Kara can barely feel cold tile underneath her toes, body arching up into the warmth of a curling form. “No. No, we are not doing this. Not now.”

“Catherine—”

“We’ve come too far.” Her voice might be strong, but her eyes are endless and vulnerable and _furious_ and insistent fingers actually jostle steel from their determination when Cat yanks the belt slid around Kara’s hips in her haste to tug it off. “What’s he doing? Is he okay?” She checks--she always checks—voice softer than the grating gravel Kara swallows down in her throat. And Kara listens—doesn’t look—to make sure eager fingers are still flipping through a comic.

(She knows better than to look in on a teenage boy in his room. Not only is it wrong on every privacy level, but Kara really does not need to wind up needing brain bleach from seeing something she does _not_ want to see.)

“Reading _Superman_.” Kara breathlessly supplies, hands moving to curl around Cat’s fingers as the last loop of a belt is undone, the small rope of fabric rustling underneath perfectly manicured nails. It's not the first time they've had sex with an unknowing Carter down the hall. Cat insists that as long as he has no idea—as long as he's healthy and safe and has _no idea_ —there’s no reason to deny themselves the few hours they have without work or saving the day (or every other logical reason in the world to keep them apart). “I know what you’re doing, Cat—” Kara tries to argue and isn’t even sure why when Catherine kisses her, again.

Kisses her like it might single-handledly stop an apocalypse—kisses her until Kara’s whole body _aches_ —and it’s everything she can do not to push her lover up onto the island and remind _both_ of them why they should never let go.

But that’s what Cat’s so focused on doing, anyways, isn’t it? This is what they’re good at. This is—

The lust isn’t just physical. It’s all-encompassing, now—it lights every single ounce of Kara’s body on fire with it. It curls her tongue and her fingers and her heart is lit up like the woodpile underneath Joan of Arc.

And what’s the worst of it all is that her eyes might be pleading—begging—to not ruin this, too.

“It’s a waste, you know. Earlier. That’s probably only the second time you’ve ever said ‘fuck’ in your entire life and it wasn’t with me between your legs.” It’s a purr—sinful and breathless as teeth tug at an ear—and any fight Kara might have ever had whimpers against the edges of her lips.

This is what Catherine's  _good at._

“Carter…” She uselessly stumbles over the thought, fingers curling into granite. One of these days she's going to break this island—she just knows it—and she can _not_ afford that. Literally. A weak protest on her tongue, almost a desperate, childish plea because this is a system she's survived by for a decade and a half, frail and crumbling whether Catherine is aware of her effect or not. Because suddenly Kara isn’t sure she can do this, anymore—this suffocating, overwhelming noise in the back of her head that she can’t break her focus from, wordless panic tickling at the edge of her gasping throat when Cat’s teeth bite down on her neck. “The rules….”

The _rules_.

“Then you'll just have to be quiet, won't you?”

Cat just slips the belt she’s stolen around Kara’s neck like a wayward tie and tugs her backwards towards an open bedroom, having enough sense to flick on the light of her study and close the door before pressing a gasping, quivering woman up against closed wood. The Saturday afternoon sun paints white sheets—pressed and perfect and undisturbed—like a sunrise and Kara pushes Catherine down on top of them until their bodies wrinkle the perfect picture with gasps of hidden, muffled noise.

National City is as full of life as Metropolis—full of sound—paint drying in speckles of blue along a new apartment a couple just bought across the street, their rollers fluttering on their second wall of the day; a shout from an enraged, righteous cabby down the street; a baby crying a few floors down; a page of a _Superman_ comic flapping in excited exuberance as ink and color paint a crest in bright blue and red hues; the sound of a fridge humming as ice drops down into a hidden bucket, the glint of stainless steel and rolling afternoon sun glaring off of forgotten glasses on a sea of expensive granite.

The sound of a belt snapping in two—fraying in cheap rope—a gasp against the shell of an ear and a name tumbling against the sweat of a shoulder.

Hazed blue eyes focus on one point—on the arching skin of a neck—and blink back tears when fingers curl in free hair.

The tears fall like raindrops inbetween them, staining sweat with a crude form of aberration, drops of moisture forming puddles and seas between them and the guilt only swells when moisture clings to painted lashes and falls, as well.

“I don’t—” Kara gasps, “I don’t know how long I can—”

“As long as we can, Kara.” Catherine immediately supplies, almost desperate to keep Kara here when she tugs her back down, the sounds of the city lost on the wind of a closed window. And it feels like Alex pressing those palms against her eyes—it feels like Kara wrapping fingers around Carter’s wrists. It feels like Catherine is lovingly guiding her to stop focusing on the world around them and focus on her, instead. “What do you see? What do you see, now?”

“I see you.” Kara promises before she kisses her, again, tasting salt and tears and sweat and coffee and _Catherine_ as she presses her down into the sheets and away from the world around them like a promise, “I see you.”

\--

Sunday. 

The glass feels cool against the DEO-regulated fatigues on Kara’s shoulders, a humming laugh on her lips as she makes a show of hiding her cards behind her shoulder, two now-familiar laughs joining her. 

“Oh, no need for the subterfuge, Kara. Because I believe that is U—to the _no_ , aliens. Boom. Shaka. Laka. My boy,” Winn points a jubilant thumb towards himself as he gathers up the cards like poker chips, scattering them over himself like he’s at a strip club. Kara’s never seen a strip club, of course, outside of television. She’s pretty sure it consists of a lot more shame but maybe also a bit more self-respect and a whole lot more skin. Kara just sticks her tongue out at him, “Me. With the win.”

“Oh, Winn, you gotta do the dance.” Mon-El begs from behind the glass, hopping up, both hands flattening against the surface. “Do the dance.”

“Mon-El’s right, Winn. I think we need the victory dance—” Kara chirps, standing up with him, laughing when Mon-El starts to do it behind the glass and Winn does it with him, both of them synchronizing into something…beautiful and silly underneath the artificial lights and she laughs so hard she finds herself gasping, hands curling over knees.

“Oh that’s beautiful, gentlemen.” Alex calls from the open doorway, waving a folder as she comes in closer.

“Touching.” J’onn appears behind her, arms perpetually crossed over his chest and both Winn and Mon-El straighten but Kara just smiles, wiping a hand under her eyes.

“I believe that’s because I _nailed_ it, sir.” Winn offers, raising a hand up to the glass that Mon-El fist-bumps through the surface, “You’re supposed to—that’s—it’s okay, buddy, we’ll work on that.”

“So what’s the news, Doc?” Mon-El calls, crossing his arms, “Is Supergirl radioactive?”

After Kara’s latest battle, a few anomalies that they were unsure would affect the Daxamite had left her Supersuit half-melted and Mon-El in containment the moment she stumbled back into the DEO. It was easier for him to go into isolation than the girl of steel when the same anomalies tested clear for humans. After all, she was always—always—on emergency duty, but the pair stayed behind, regardless, forming a mini game night with the few military board games they found in the bunker.

They’d played through three rounds of a game of Clue that looked like it was left from WWII in the DEO’s government halls before Vasquez took pity and tugged out a deck of cards for poker…and a pack of UNO cards. Being true adults, they all stuck with the UNO because none of them could remember the rules to poker, anyways, and the capability of googling through the server’s scrambler’s even with Winn on their side lead to the very embarrassing possibility that everyone in the DEO would _know_ that they didn’t remember how to play it.

Kara didn't care, Winn had, so UNO it was.

“You’ve got the all-clear, Supergirl.” Alex flicks the page like any of them will bother reading it before bumping her sister’s shoulder with her own, “Hey, what’s up, you guys playing UNO without me?”

“Well, it would’ve been poker if we remembered how to play.” Kara shrugs and Winn lets out a betrayed whine at the secret being revealed.

"Et tu, Kara?"

“Congratulations, Mon-El of Daxam, it looks like you’ll be free to keep eating all of the snacks in the mess and training for another day.” J’onn notes, eyes flicking from the Daxamite to the Kryptonian with a nod before taking the folder from Alex’s hands, “Danvers, Schott, we need both of you at Command—”

“You could join us for the next game, J’onn.” Kara offers and he smiles before nodding towards the way they all came.

“Next time count me in, Supergirl.”

Three sets of footprints slowly fade—two heavy regulation boots, one a pair of Converse squeaking along concrete—voices crossing over each other as they talk about some operation Kara tries her best to filter out because she can only do so much. Can only feel responsible for so much. Supergirl can’t be everywhere at once and the DEO has more officers than just National City’s risking their lives to find peace between civilians and the, to Earth’s citizens, supernaturally extraordinary, and if she listens in her fingers will itch--her muscles will tense--and the exhaustion of the past few weeks is already catching up to her cold feet.

If Alex is on it, she reminds herself, whoever it is is in good hands.

Eventually it fades and Kara knows Mon-El can hear it, too, the air filtration system (carefully monitored and thankfully rarely-compromised) filling the silence settling between them with a metallic, whirring hum.

She’ll wait with him until the doors open because they’ve both spent far too much time behind glass for anyone’s lifetimes.

“You know…I love the whole, being able to walk around freely throughout the DEO and everything business. That is g- _reat_ but…” He clears his throat, “I’d kind of like to get out. I mean, like…the _out of here_ kind. Come on, Winn’s been vouching for me, right?”

“You…could have helped me out there, you know.” Kara hums, shoulders rolling back into glass, arms crossing over her stomach and head tipping back. “Earlier, when I was fighting. You’ve been doing well in your training—you could be super.”

“ _Or_ …” Mon-El is standing behind her, she can hear his heartbeat, and she closes her eyes, imagining his sagging shoulders. “I could learn all about Earth and the culture and the alcohol that could spilleth over my cup.” That’s a hard ‘p’ but there’s a hint of a sigh here. "I didn't mean out there fighting supervillains, I meant out there--"

“You are right. Not about the…the alcohol or any cups spilleth-ing over or anything,” Kara turns around, tongue darting over lips as she searches his face, “It _isn’t_ right for us to keep you here.”

“Kara…we’re friends, right? We got that whole…’hey, my planet invaded your planet, no your planet invaded my planet, aaaah’ yelling match over with and—” And he actually shuffles a little behind the isolation chamber’s lights, gaze finding the floor and before Kara can help it, her features soften.

“Mon-El.” It’s a murmur, turning around to press her hand against glass, “We are friends. You’re right. But we can’t release you without a charge and Winn is… _here_ pretty much all the time and I have CatCo and—”

“But I could…can't they just let me go? I just want to—”

The fingers not cooling against a smooth, smudged surface curl into a long duty’s shirt, searching his face, and Kara tips back her chin when she hears Winn shuffle back into the room, bending over to grab his jacket and shrug it back on his shoulders.

“Duty calls, Supergirl. We’ve got a high-speed car chase down on—woah, you guys look serious.”

Winn’s right because suddenly she _feels_ serious, colorful Uno cards scattered on the floor along her bare feet, searching the eyes of a friend.

A friend she's left locked up here like she'd been locked up for twenty-four years.

“Come home with me.” Kara finally decides and Winn blinks but Mon-El tips his head back, hope clear on his features.

“Uh…don’t you have a…” Winn leans forward, feverishly whispering in her ear, “Don’t you have a _Cat_ somewhere you should—”

“What?” Brows knit and then Kara’s nose scrunches, shoving Winn’s shoulder, “Oh, _eww_ , Winn. Gross. Not like that.” A pointed finger towards Mon-El through the glass even though he obviously has no clue what anyone’s suggesting, “ _Not_ like that.” And, boy, wouldn’t Cat have a field day with the way the suggestion tinges her cheeks. “I just mean…I’ll be your charge. I’ll take care of you. You can stay in my apartment.” Still _pointed_ , “On the _couch_ —”

“Really?” He perks up, excitement lighting up every inch of his face.

“As long as you keep training,” Kara presses and that seems to be the moment Alex decides to release the latch on the door and he pushes it open, gathering her up in his arms and _squeezing_ so hard that Kara can feel it, a laugh bubbling between them.

“I won’t let you down!” He promises and he sounds so sincere that Kara thinks he means it, wrapping arms around his neck and holding him close.

“Just...Winn and I have faith in you.” It’s all Supergirl—all _Kryptonian_ —but she’s _not_ all Kryptonian, anymore, eyes proud and gentle as Mon-El punches Winn’s arm to a sharp, whimpering yelp of a noise.

“I won’t let you down!”

“Uh, _oww._ ” Winn holds his shoulder with a glare, "Breakable." Mon-El continuing, undeterred, not looking away from Kara for a moment in sympathy.

“After that.”

She sighs and shoves his shoulder, turning around on her heel to head towards J’onn and her sister, hoping that the new threat will ease some of the blow of what she’s just suggested, but her footsteps feel a little lighter along the cool concrete, feet bare, un-singed clothes sagging on her frame. She pads over to the CIC to see Alex shrugging over a tattered Supersuit (this is her third of the week) and gesturing towards the fatigues with a thumb.

“Looks like you’re going black-chic this time, Supergirl.”

Kara frowns because the DEO's military fatigues feel particularly similar to the Kryptonian ones--to the ones she'd worn when red had curled on her tongue--and she can only hope enough time has passed for that memory to be the only thing that sticks.

“I bet,” Winn hums as he slides up next to her, elbow falling down to her shoulder and offering up a pair of unassuming black-glasses. “Cat would love it.”

Kara snorts and runs a thumb along the line of them before patting Winn’s hand closed for safe keeping, a slow smile spreading as her eyes flick down to her bare feet—to her military-grade cargo pants and military-grade black sweater—biting a lip when a particular memory tickles the back of a heating neck.

_"Did I ever tell you--" Fingers curl in the red of a cape as nails drag up thighs, gasping against an ear-- "That I love a woman in uniform?"_

“Well, she, um…might not mind it.”

“Okay, your face just gave me way too much information, Danvers.” Winn’s nose scrunches and Kara catches Alex’s curious eyes as she laughs before turning around, watching the way the sun lights up Mon-El’s relaxed, happy face—natural, compared to the confined, cramped white lights of a small holding cell—nodding towards him as he offers her an extraordinarily over-exaggerated salute.

It makes her smile.

The outfit won’t be the only interesting thing she’ll have to explain to Catherine the next time she sees her, but some part of Kara thinks she’ll understand--understand freedom over oppression. Understand Kara over all else--and she feels...lighter.

“Hey, I’ll remind you how to lose at poker when you get back.” Alex promises in her ear, tugging her into a quick hug that breaks their gaze, smiling against a temple when Kara’s hands immediately come up to cup her shoulders.

“Looking forward to it.”

A moment later, Supergirl without the suit shoots into the sky, a mix of black and skin, for once not feeling like a symbol as the sun sets into the heating fabric around her shoulders, bare feet holding steady as she lands on top of the slick metal of a car’s hood. The wind whistles between her toes and she realizes, in this moment, how hard it is to feel the world underneath such thick boots. 

“You know, you could just turn around because I sort of have a game of poker to—nope, still with the shooting, okay. You know it’s really not safe to shoot while drivi—oh, okay, that’s not gonna stop you. You're just going to keep--please stop shooting, gentlemen.”

And she smiles when the sun highlights her back and recognition settles in their eyes regardless, fabric of sagging cargo pants fluttering in the wind like a cape, knowing that the monitors in the CIC are showcasing the stunt—knowing a camera, somewhere, might be showing it across the city to a teenage boy and his mother—and that smile only spreads, confidence setting her spine, because it’s time to show the world—to show _Mon-El,_ who has a series of paths laid before him bare and uncertain—that the hero isn’t the suit.

It’s not the chair or the promise of always knowing what to do or the _suit._

It’s the person behind it.

She’s the person behind it.

And maybe if Kara reminds Mon-El of that enough, if she reminds the world of it enough, she’ll believe it.

Kara doesn't know that a month later she'll find it hard to believe in much of anything, anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Kryptonian translations.
> 
> You know, I'm never on there, but I keep forgetting to inform you all that I have a [Tumblr](http://begonefoulsoftdrink.tumblr.com). (Begonefoulsoftdrink). I'm always open to convos/suggestions/prompts.


	13. Declarations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Rule #49. No declarations of any shape, form, or kind.**
> 
> In Cat’s delicate cursive, flicking along the edge of the page, something perhaps not noticed-- a stolen moment or one never forgotten--lining ink with the flourish of what might be a knowing smile:
> 
> **Stop staring those little heart-eyes at me, Kara, you look like a cartoon.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are kryptonian words in this chapter, but they're actually given definitions within the chapter, so I figured a translation section wasn't necessary. If you still feel it is, holler at me and I'll add it. Bit of a long one ahead, but I didn't know how to break it up without disrupting the flow for the chapter.
> 
> Yet again, you're all just...seriously so wonderful. You're the fire that keeps me plowing forward for this story and I love so much hearing from each and every one of you. Even for those that don't comment--trust me, I understand, we've all got lives--I appreciate you tuning into this little neck of the Supercat woods. 
> 
> Lucky 13
> 
> Please let me know what you think. :)

The blinds swish closed for the thirteenth time this week with an elegant flick of the wrist as Cat Grant, an undeniably efficient conductor of discretion, pulls her Senior Art Director into the glass coffin of her metaphorical maestra stand. The last view of the pair to a very curious bullpen is Jimmy Olsen’s hands shoving into pockets while impeccably-tweezed eyebrows raise into a hairline and Kara sighs, chin tipping back, because she knows what’s coming next before she hears the small little pitter patter of feet.

Once, years ago,  Kara had asked Eliza what her favorite part of Christmas was, and Eliza had such a wistful, happy look in her eyes when she recalled the sound of her child’s feet _gently_ stampeding (an accurate contradiction for Alex Danvers, Eliza always assured) down the stairs to the sight of a lit Christmas tree and stacked presents. Eliza is still adamant that it’s her favorite part of Christmas, despite the fact that her girls are grown and gone, and Kara always wondered at the sound of it—wondered if she would love listening to that careful, exuberant tip-toeing from kids, someday—and sighs when she spots it in a grown woman across the pen.

It’s months from being close to Christmas decorations and Eve Teschmacher is not really Kara’s child, but there her office-friend is, practically _skipping_ like an overzealous kid towards a junior reporter’s desk of the day, and it’s all she can do not to pound her head on it.

She should have known the moment the door had closed and Kara’s starting to think her recent roommate might have a bit of a point about her always getting her _hopes_ up when maybe she shouldn’t (when he said this it was when Kara revealed that she had thought _The Sopranos_ was going to be a happy musical about a Family; the moment Mon-El discovered what the show actually revolved around…well, he’s been binge-watching it on her television ever since. Usually in his underwear. Unemployed. Eating her cereal.) because she’d really hoped Eve would move on, by now.

Eve _beams_  and Kara just fondly shakes her head before tugging out the nearby chair for the desk she’s stolen this week. Snapper isn’t aware that she’s sitting, of course—she’s been moving from desk to desk like some romantically underwhelming tale of gypsy life ever since she chose this job—but Eve somehow always knows where, and when, to find her.

“Thirteenth, Kara!” Eve chirps, immediately scooting out the chair and leaning forward over a messy stack of papers like she’s on a stakeout, eyes slitting as she excitedly stares down the grain of the CEO’s door like she’s somehow learned wood-braille.

“Maybe they’re just—”

“Come _on_!”

James has been dipping into Cat Grant’s office with blinds closed and hushed rumors for three weeks, now. Eve, who Kara is learning is a _queen_ of rumors—honestly, most assistants are, it’s their life-blood, save for one meek Danvers who didn’t appreciate spreading information about anyone, let alone their secrets—has several working theories.

She's always--always--happy to share.

The first week, Eve had leaned against Kara’s desk with a muffin like some kind of fiber succubus, eyes bright as she stage-whispered to her friend’s unknowing detriment. Cat was bowing underneath the relentless ire of the board and starting a wave of _relocations_ (keyword: firings) to compensate. Janice from the twenty-third floor, after all, had heard rumors of an accounting mistake that had cost the company _millions_ while under negotiations for the building of their newest Japan acquisition. Kara had simply peeled the paper off of the muffin and shrugged, offering: _Why do you think James would have anything to do with firing anyone?_ To which Eve had sulked and drummed her fingers along the edge of her desk, perking up every moment a door rattled like it might be her employer’s, holding the answers she sought.

Kara had been using the small pull-out table for the water cooler as her desk, that week, and the moment Snapper saw her, both of them scurried before Eve could offer any more theories as to why James Olsen would be allowed to fire anyone outside of his team, at all.

The second week, Eve appeared with two bagels with enough cream cheese to drown in—which, admittedly, is how Kara likes most forms of food, in excess enough to drown in—and a devilish glint to her eyes. Kara had very professionally hidden underneath James’ desk in his absence and through the slim crack of light that shone through the nearly-closed door, there her fiber-succubus appeared like some kind of holy angel of gossip, fussing with a skirt as she plopped down next to Kara on the floor like it was just any other Tuesday.

Which it kind of was.

I bet they’re sleeping together, Eve supplied, and Kara nearly choked on her bagel, small little spatters of cream cheese painting the underside of a wood desk Cat had decidedly slept on weeks prior, but not with James Olsen.

Eve smacked her back repeatedly with enough grace to rival Winn and when Kara finally dislodged the small little bit of bagel, she wiped the tears from her eyes and laughed until Eve _sulked--_ she didn't mean to, really, it was just  _funny--_ tucked away in the small little corner of desk, glowering and snapping up the uneaten bagel.

“ _Well you could have just said no!_ ” She _harrumphed_ and took a large bite just to spite Kara, who raised her hand up mournfully towards the lost mound of everything and cheese.

This week, Eve simply looks oddly _forlorn_ as she drops her head to Kara’s shoulder, twirling a curl of her own blonde locks as she purses lips towards the door. Today, Snapper is out doing interviews, and Kara had found a reprieve on yet another desk Jimmy Olsen has hopefully not had sex on, even though she has—Eve’s. That is, until she had been dragged away to yet another fire across the city and set up camp at the desk across Snapper’s in a clear defiance that’s made her a little giddy for the past hour.

Now that Eve’s settled in her stolen chair (partner in crime by default) a donut materializes in front of Kara’s scrunching nose, a delightful noise breaking the silence between them. Eve pats her knee and almost seems content not to throw any _would’s_ on their metaphorical rumor-mill fire, but the silence doesn’t last long.

“Maybe she’s thinking of leaving?” Eve finally murmurs and must be able to _feel_ the way all of Kara’s body freezes and in this moment, luckily, an ex-assistant remembers that she should probably be more surprised about that than last week’s so she tries her best to look just as nervous towards the door as Eve is.

“No way, Eve. I mean—come on. Maybe she’s just…training him, or something. For something else.”

Kara’s never been so certain that hiring Eve was the right choice, because there’s something undeniable in the assistant’s eyes that shifts and curves and licks like a fire before another sigh leaves her, a decisive nod replacing her momentarily-sagging jaw. Like she might, for as much as she calls Cat Grant impossible, be sad to see her go.

“You’re right.” Eve’s eyes slit. “Definitely just sleeping together”

“I don’t think Jimmy is Cat’s type.” Kara sighs into her coffee, glad she’d at least gotten her donut down so that she didn’t choke on it, although that laughing feeling has settled into something else entirely, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, yeah?” Eve leans closer, voice quirking up in sharp, unforgiving edges like how Kara’s seen ancient art depict the devil’s claws, smirking and _sinful_ , “Want to hear the rumor on who _is_?”

“Eve.” It’s a groan, now, red smothering up a tilting neck, suddenly very— _very_ —focused on the edit below her. “Don’t you remember how nice I was when I trained you? Can’t you show me a little mercy from the rumor mill?”

“Nope.” Eve elegantly pokes the screen, winking, “ _Dalliance_ is spelled with a ‘c’.”

“Thanks.”

Luckily, the sound of the door is loud enough to catch an ever-frantic assistant’s attention, Eve scurrying towards her desk before she can incur the wrath of the very woman in discussion. Kara maturely debates throwing the last precious piece of her sandwich from lunch at her friend’s retreating form, set aside in favor of a donut, but decides better on it for the off-chance that Cat really does come around the hall.

Even though it might quell a bit of the rumor about them sleeping together if Cat screams at her about attracting ants, Kara doesn’t have the heart to tell Eve she’s wrong, even inadvertently.

\--

**Rule #49. No declarations of any shape, form, or kind.**

In Cat’s delicate cursive, flicking along the edge of the page, something perhaps not noticed-- a stolen moment or one never forgotten--lining ink with the flourish of what might be a knowing smile:

**_Stop staring those little heart-eyes at me, Kara, you look like a cartoon._ **

\--

It’s been six and a half months—a Tuesday night—when Kara starts to think in terms of _forever_ before her mind might stop her, because her heart will take forever before her mind has a chance to think.

“Okay, so don’t freak out—” Kara starts and Cat’s eyes slit almost humorously because it’s clear the younger of the two has happily sprawled naked on top of her in part due to a trap to keep her in place.

“Well, you’re on top of me, right now, so the worst I could possibly do would be stabbing you in the eye.” Cat quips, but her hand brushes along a cheek, idly twining a strand of hair around her thumb, “Tell me, Kara. Though for the record, telling someone not to freak out only ever makes them freak out.”

“Right.” Teeth tuck up a lip, knowing it’s better to get straight to the point: “So…Adam told me that you’ve been hanging up every time he mentions going to his father’s wedding in a month.”

“Is there a reason why Adam calls you every single time I do something _untoward_? Hoping you’ll coach a little bit of sunshine into my dour, unapproachable icy demeanor?”

“He was just venting. We’re friends—”

Grumbling: “Joe obviously raised him, I never would have raised a tattle-tale.”

“Cat.”

“What? He is. _I’m_ not the one being immature—”

“Adam’s twenty-nine, not a kid, and he’s worried. And he’s your _son_.” She can’t help a hint of a laugh at the sour look on Catherine’s face, “He just tells me because, well, in his words I’m the only person that can actually get anything out of you.”

“Discussing my son, who you had your own little affair with, while I’m naked in bed, isn’t likely to _get anything out of me_ , Kara. It’s just likely to make me rethink—”

“No it’s not.” Kara immediately argues, arms tenting over Catherine’s chest, a hint of a loving smile tucking up her lips as her chin falls down to her palms, knowingly tracing the lines of the invisible scars over her lover’s ribcage like a surgeon.

“No.” Cat huffs something through her nostrils, fingers skimming up Kara’s bare back, “Fine, it’s not.”

“You realize I just kissed him, right? We had _one_ date, Cat—”

“No.” It’s an immediate cut-off, but the answer causes any hint of humor on Kara’s face to soften, despite how nonchalant Cat appears. “I didn’t.”

“I kissed him. Once. And then immediately broke it off after one date. This—us—it wouldn’t…not that Adam knows, but if there’s any reason for you to have ever felt apprehensive, Catherine, it wouldn’t have been because of Adam. Have you been—” Kara’s tongue darts out over her lips, sighing as her head hangs for only a moment, because she knows better than to press her palms against a door of self-resolute guilt, smiling, instead. And whether or not they discuss it, the way the wrinkles around the edge of hazel eyes ease is enough to tell her that the revelation was wanted. “So…” She continues, “Joe is getting remarried? Why didn’t you tell me? And don’t tell me it’s not because you didn’t think about it.”

“Why would I tell you my ex-husband is getting remarried?”

“Adam told me he never remarried, after you. It’s been…twenty-five years?” Cat avoids her gaze. “He invited you to the wedding.”

“Only because he’s certain I’ll make it memorable. Outside of lack-luster lovemaking, Joe was never fond of unmemorable things.”

“What was that rule about not putting other people down to lift yourself up?” Kara gently recalls, finger skimming along Catherine’s sternum in a faint apology for pressing her, at all, “I’m not trying to push, Cat, really. It’s alright to be hurt. I just…if you _did_ want to talk—”

“You and your rules.” Cat grumbles. “Yes. Joe is…remarrying in a few months. He invited me a few weeks ago.”

“That must have been hard to hear.” Kara gently asks, finger skimming between the swell of breasts, chin resting on a collarbone, “I...that had to be hard. You were together for so long. I didn’t poke around asking, but Adam told me you two were together when you were teens?” Cat looks up, a hint of curiosity settling on features, like she’s trying to figure out Kara’s angle and Kara, with a faint smile, lips brushing over the skin she’s painting, tries to remind her that she doesn’t have one. “What?”

“Oh, and is that twinkle in your eye journalistic curiosity?”

“That twinkle is probably just _happiness_ , or something…equally cheesy that you won’t want to hear about.”  

“Happiness, hmm?”

“Avoid, avoid, deny, deny?” Lips brush over the dip of a collarbone.

“Fine.” A hint of a laugh bubbles on the edge of Catherine’s lips. “No one...asks.”

“About…” A dark gaze, covered in shadows by happily tousled hair, looks pointed, ”About your ex-husbands?” Kara hums in the back of her throat at the faint nod of a gesture, brows barely knitting as she scoots a little upwards, “Is it—is that weird? Me asking.”

“Yes.” Cat immediately supplies, thinking about it for a moment, fingers skimming down biceps, “And no. A mixed bag, I suppose. When you become my age the baggage becomes too much for anyone to ask for more than a synopsis. The middle of a date, in-between trying to discover if someone is actually interesting over stilted conversation and awkward pauses, is like reading the tattered back end of a romance novel in a drug store. Quick, brutal, and a little dirty.”

“I’m doubtful of that, Ms. Grant.” Kara hums, cheek coming to rest on her knuckles as she watches Cat’s eyes in the faint light, leaning into the gentle touch. “If you were a book, you would be something far better than a romance novel in a drug store. A first edition in a glass case, leather-bound.”

“Leather-bound? Not all books come with your fetishes, _mon oisillon_.”

“Cat,” Kara laughs, teeth tucking the corner of a lip, lightly tickling a side in a way that causes a delighted rumble, catching fingers and brushing lips over them before they can swat her shoulder in retaliation because the last she wants is a broken hand beneath her. “So...you don’t talk about them? Any of your relationships? But that’s—Cat, those have to be things that affected you.”

“It’s just not—” There’s a shake of the head, brows knitting further in disbelief, like Cat’s forming a brow-barrier against the thoughts encroaching upon a mental fortress. “I guess my generation just doesn’t...talk about things like that. You’re expected to move up—move on. Move—”

“People who have that tight of a grip on your heart never let go.” Kara’s suddenly serious, eyes unyielding, finger stilling along the lazy descent its started along a collarbone, “Not really. It’s...okay to be affected by that. I never understood—” She catches herself with a hint of a nervous breath. Laughs a little—looks a little sheepish—before dipping down to rest her chin once more on Cat’s chest, feeling a heartbeat tremble against her skin. “I just...I want to know about you Catherine. That includes everything.”

“Everything?” Cat repeats, skeptical, and Kara just smiles. “God, you’re weird, sometimes.”

“Pride myself on it.” Kara perks, leaning up to gently kiss her—to catch lips in a lingering smile—feeling the moment Catherine eases into the soft touch, hands winding through mussed, free hair. “Tell me about them. If...if you want. I don’t want to push.”

“Most people would be jealous.” Cat hums against her, those same fingers starting the unenviable task of trying to brush through the tangled strands she’s caused. No one can claim Catherine Grant isn’t capable of fixing her own messes, Kara knows. “Four marriages, Kara. I was with each of them for years and thought I was desperately in love, each time.” A thoughtful, breathless noise rumbling against lips: “Thought being the keyword, at times, I suppose. But Joe…” And that breath breaks, there, in a way that makes Kara to pull away if only to cup her cheeks, despite how valiantly Cat’s held the gates for two and a half decades. “Oh, I loved Joe. You can’t want to hear about that.”

“Years that I _want_ to hear about. That’s your heart, Cat. You don’t just...forget where you come from—what happened doesn’t just go away. Jealousy over where you come from is...it just feels silly. It’s not like you’re going to go back to them, right?”

“Right.” Fingers fall from hair to curve around wrists, thumbs swiping along Kara’s skipping heart: “Oddly mature. For a millennial.”

“If it helps, I'm still very immature. I haven’t mastered my taxes.”

“Very helpful.”

“I,” She leans down closer, “Get flustered every time I even think of opening TurboTax and my taxes, outside of a very suspicious government write-off, _are_ something I _can_ handle with TurboTax.”

“Ah, yes, the secret to wooing every girl, talk about how undiversified your portfolio is in bed. After talking about their son and their ex-husbands.”

“Is it working?” The smile spreads to a smirk and content arms wrap around a neck.

“Let's see, tell me more.”

“I don’t even have any stocks.” Kara whispers as sultrily as she can in an ear and Cat’s rumbling laugh is a welcome noise from the seriousness of that curling, old-wound of a smile moments before.

“Stop.” Cat shoves her shoulder but Kara just sprawls back on top of her, smile easier—content—cheek resting on a shaking shoulder. “You’re trying to cheer me up.”

“Guilty.” A hint of a laugh of her own because it’d be silly to deny, and she spends a few moments watching her—watching the way she smiles. “They were important to you, those experiences of your life.” Kara is quiet—gentle—finger running along the line of her jaw in a reverence that will ache so much in the rusted metal of her knuckles that she’ll spend hours painting it, someday. “You shouldn’t forget them.”

“I never forget failed expectations—”

And miraculously, that’s what opens the seal of Catherine’s jaw, the stories flowing like they’d been waiting on the edge of her teeth for years. Her first marriage with _Adam_ and alcohol. Her second with hatred. Her third with Carter and her fourth with regret. And each and every time Catherine had convinced herself she was utterly in love and Kara listens and listens and listens as the stars slowly drift across the skies.

Catherine’s voice hums along the curve of Kara’s shoulder as a finger dips up the length of skin—as their hands twine and curl and piece together like moonlight drifting through the blinds, filling slivers of darkness with life—and when she lets out a huff of breath from parted lips, there’s three decades of memories that stain skin with a wistful, sad smile.

Kara now knows that Joe liked to carry around a pocket-full of quarters in case he ever ran into a jukebox in a bar and every time, he would raise a glass in toast to the girl of his dreams with a dance in her honor. That Catherine drank so heavily after Adam was gone that sometimes she would cradle a bottle to her chest like a child.

Kara now knows that Matthew used to smoke and hide it, but was never successful at getting the smell out of his cufflinks, curled around fabric of flowers and nicotine. That Catherine had to pay to have her house fumigated to rid her lungs of the scent of him because it burned like ash and tasted worse of whiskey than even Joe had.

Kara now knows that Michael couldn’t dance but took lessons because it thought it would keep their marriage from falling apart…and then decided to use those lessons horizontally with his dancing instructor. (Kara makes a mental note, at this, to tell Eve to extend his hold time from seven minutes to nine). That Cat sometimes goes dancing just to spite him, even now.

Kara now knows that Arthur would hum off-key in the shower. That the first time she heard Kara doing it, Catherine was struck by the notion of what it was like to hear something done _properly_ when dancing along the steam of fogging tile.

She’s spent months listening to the wistful tone of Catherine’s voice. How the cutting rumble of it seems to soften underneath the weight of the twilight hours—months memorizing the way it dips in gruffness, open when a lithe body sags against the clouds of a bed or the stiffness of a table or the safety of a couch—but she spends hours memorizing this. Because there’s a lingering hurt that never quite eases no matter how many years that pass. Catherine divulges these small little facts like secrets; like she never should have held them close to her heart, at all.

“I don’t think I knew what I was really looking for, that ever elusive happiness.” Kara’s nose brushes along a collarbone as their fingers slide fully together, the soft drum of a heartbeat punctuating the half-note of a sigh that breaks the measure between them, “But happiness isn’t a constant state, it’s a frame of mind—it’s not romance novels or fluttery little romcoms. I love my sons. I have many regrets in my life—many regrets in my marriages, not that I would admit that to my lawyers who leap every time they see a diamond wedding band thanks to my faithful, routine business. But my sons…” Cutting wit dies in favor of seriousness, maybe forgetting what she’s sharing or maybe not. “They will never be one of them. Maybe how things happened with Adam, but not them existing. Not for one moment.”

“They never should be.” Kara gently agrees, quiet and intent, finally breaking her silence save for a few laughs among stories—a few questions—blue settling in the darkness of a bedroom when Catherine’s fingernail traces a line along a smooth circle of unoccupied skin, below her knuckle. Catherine traces a young ring finger that’s never been filled—likely never will be—and the breath in Kara’s lungs catches in a way she doesn’t bother hiding. It’s such a forbidden memory, to wonder what it would taste to bury a murmur of _zrh emin _for a fifth, final time against her lover’s heart. “You weren’t happy?”

“I asked myself that question often. Before, during, after.” Cat’s lips brush along the line of a knuckle, and there it is—that endless, all-consuming look—obviously turning over the question before she answers: “Well, happiness is…tricky, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ve learned happiness can be a transient notion on any planet.” It’s a hypothetical but Kara still regretfully makes a noise in the back of her throat in agreement.

“Transient is a little…” Lips barely purse, the word _harsh_ dying on her tongue because if anyone bears a right to the idea of happiness, she thinks it should be Catherine. “Happiness exists.” She doesn’t point out that it feels like the dip of a smile against a naked ring finger—that it tastes like Catherine’s laugh—that it feels like moonlight against their bare shoulders. She doesn’t point it out because she’s certain that she’s not the only one aware. “But you’d still know, Catherine. Transient happiness, or not. Were you? Happy.”

“I think I was for a little while in my first marriage. I loved him—God, I think I…really, really loved him, sometimes—but we never grew at the same time. It was like we were from two different planets.” They both chuckle after a moment, “Well.” A shake of the head, “We were never really…compatible. I grew too much and he grew too little—he became a father where I became…cruel. Joe...Joe was never one for success and I was never one for opening my heart, was I? The other two…I’m not sure how much bitterness can take over memories. I never was happy with Arthur—it felt...comfortable. Safe, and I think I confused that stability for love. Michael…Matthew…” Her head rolls against the pillow as she looks upwards, towards an unset sun, maybe, or whoever Cat might believe is God. Undoubtedly, if Cat is imagining God, Kara’s certain she’s imagining a woman. “But all of my marriages missed something fundamental.”

“What do you think it was?”

The wind rattles against expensive glass panes and the idly brush of fingers along Kara’s ring finger pauses for only a moment—only a breath—and then their eyes meet, again.

“Don’t let it go to your head, but…” A shaking, quivering breath, “This.” Cat’s finger raises up from a line of skin, then, content to run along knuckles, focused on the motion with loving eyes for only a moment before she looks back up, and there’s that look for a second time. Only this time it steals any hint of breath from a chest. Past. Present. Future. Kara’s not sure she knows what breathing ever felt like, let alone has disillusions about breathing again. Maybe it’s last year and she’s floating up in outer space, having the loveliest consolation of a dream among the stars. “Communication. Trust. We have...talked about our relationship at length, Kara. We have rules. We have a mutual understanding and respect. It’s...a novelty."

“A novelty?” Kara’s chin tips back as she laughs, hard and loud and warm before she leans down and kisses her, bright and smiling, blinking back surprise in favor of warmth. “Catherine Grant, the secret romantic.” Another kiss, raising suddenly restless hands to cup cheeks. “I mean, a _novelty_? I’m _swooning_.”

“There might be a bit of a romantic in me, yet.”

“I knew it. I knew you were—” Kara’s nose wrinkles, so happy to see Catherine’s gentle, relaxed eyes underneath the moonlight. Eyes that have more amusement in them than—Oh. “Oh, wait, that was a sexual innuendo, wasn’t it.”

“Hmm...well, _one_ of us needed to try to tamp down on your unrelenting romantic optimism.”

“You like it.” Kara teases and Cat rolls her eyes despite arms that pull Kara impossibly closer.

“That promotion was relentless to your ego. What happened to my meek assistant?”

“I believe _you_ did, Ms. Grant.” They both share a curling smile that eases the hint of the heaviness lingering on tongues but those hazel eyes are still so vulnerable—“On...Krypton,” Kara hedges, because that’s a past no one _ever_ asks for, either trotting along on eggshells or not thinking to ask, at all, and the immediate perk of curiosity showcased from Catherine’s perking chin is more than a little refreshing. “Romance was different. Love worked differently than it does, here. You had someone you were betrothed to from a young age—matched with—and that was your mate. You were tied for life, they were your partner. We were genetically paired—our mates are—were—assigned to us, pre-arranged by the council and a mathematical algorithm, so that our pairings could greatest benefit Krypton.” It sounds so clinical—so removed—and over a dozen years later, Kara doesn’t know how to explain the thought to someone who wasn’t there. Who didn’t live within it. Who wasn’t part of a scrambling wave of people doing their best to keep their planet from dying behind hushed doors and frantic policies destined to save them all.

It’s hard for her to explain, herself, since she was just a child.

“Romantic.” Cat drawls, fingers brushing through Kara’s hair and the blonde sighs, a little, agreeing.

“Maybe extreme but...necessary. In a way. We were hardly a party planet, like Daxam—”

“Daxam?”

“It was...a neighboring planet of Krypton. It was…” A fluttering breath, imagining Mon-El’s quivering chin as her hand curled around his shoulder, “It was destroyed. When Krypton was. We believe the fragments of my planet—Kryptonite, that green rock you saw with Metallo—they...rained down on it and made the planet uninhabitable. The destruction of my planet—” Her parent’s hubris, “Caused Daxam’s, too.”

“Oh. That’s…”

“New?” Kara supplies, lips batting up and Cat hums in a faint laugh of acknowledgment. “But,” She continues the earlier tangent, not wanting to linger on the dark thought that threatens to weigh down shoulders, “I said that because Daxam was known as a bit of a…party planet. Even though Kryptonians were—well, Mon-El, that new roommate of mine I’ve been mentioning? He’s Daxamite and…he likes to remind me that we had a reputation for being a little prudish.” Kara’s lips quirk up at the edges and, considering their state of undress—and what they just spent the past several hours doing—Cat’s eyebrows reasonably raise in a display that makes Kara laugh. “But even with that, we weren’t...sex wasn’t as taboo of a subject as it is here, on Krypton. I’d consider Earth…far more prudish, from what I remember.”

“Really?” Cat’s definitely intrigued, now, a hint of that journalistic twinkle at the edges of dark eyes she’d been teasing about so recently.

“We were…sex was considered a tool for creativity—a beautiful ritual for worship, according to some of our guilds—but when you reached mating age...” Kara trails off with a hint of a shrug, “Krypton was very monogamous in their unions. But…Krypton had love, too. There was _one_ exception. When it came to the person who completes you—the person who...has your heart, we understood that…that person could be different from the person that you were mated to. We understood that, sometimes, the person you were betrothed to, you didn’t love, that the heart was a beautiful, extraordinary thing..” Kara thinks back of the few conversations she’d truly understood, “I was young when I left, so I’m sure part of it was naive thinking that it never happened—of course Krypton had scandals, I’m sure people had affairs—we were a proud people unwilling to admit flaw. But my people were…”

“Devoted?” Cat supplies and Kara nods.

“Devoted is a good word for it. Loyal. Ultimately, I guess what I’m trying to say is that it was illegal to commit adultery. It was…entrenched in my culture, the spiritual, unbreakable bond of your union. But there was this idea of…more. I guess the closest equivalent you’d have here would be like a…soulmate. But it was really like a second…” Kara tries to think of how to word it and the pause is enough for her lover to curiously interject:

“Are you saying your people had concubines?” Cat’s eyebrows knit.

“No.” There’s a hint of a laugh, “No. And you should really stop trying to understand it in Earth-terms, it won’t...trust me, it won’t work. I tried to explain to Alex for years, but…” She laughs, a little louder at the faint image of a much-younger Alex, confusion ebbed in the line of a furrowing brow, shaking her head as she rolls over onto her back, sliding up the bed, bringing Cat with her until she’s settled in her lap, knees tucking up by hips.

“So Kryptonians were the free-loving kind?” Cat raises both hands at the look Kara gives her, “Right, no Earth terms, okay.”

“No free-loving, I promise Krypton was not like the sixties. Well, I mean, it _was_ the sixties when I left—”

“Well, then.”

Kara continues before Cat can give her a look.

“You have _one_ mate.” Kara repeats, “Unless you meet your…” She hesitates along the word, “Person. We had this idea that love was a gift from Rao, himself, because _true love_ was rare, and if you found it, you wouldn’t leave your mate—of course not—but this person would have a higher…importance to them than your wife, or husband. They weren’t concubines. Or even a second mate—they were…your heart. Your life. Your journey would always be entwined with them, somehow.” She shifts higher up and Catherine settles against her, fingers skimming along knees, their eyes catching and Kara sees the question on her lover’s tongue. “What?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to interrupt.” When Kara opens her mouth, again, to suggest she do just that, the hands along a knee raise to cup a cheek, so gentle that it seems to unhinge Kara’s jaw, this time.

“One of my…last memories of my mother was of her telling how she’d become truly joined with my father. Not…in a sex way.” Kara’s rushed to add, face screwing up at the thought, “We weren’t that weird, culturally. No, she…she told me that when you meet your love, it will be like Rao lit your path to them.” It’s a mere whisper, swallowing sand and dirt and ash, finger dipping along Cat’s clavicle before she looks back up into her eyes and she wishes she could explain to Catherine how beautiful her mother was. She wishes Catherine could have met her. She wishes Catherine could see what Kara sees, now, the faded photograph of a woman who haunts holographs with stern eyes that used to be kind—of a taut jaw that used to bend and break underneath the dam’s weight of her kind smile. Eliza always told Kara that her smile is kind and loving and Kara hates that no one will ever know that, like how Kal-El inherited his from his father, Kara inherited hers from her mother.

Kara wishes Catherine could see her mother dance, graceful and beautiful underneath twinkling stars, and see her father laugh as he took her hand, over dinner, both of them twirling around the livingroom, in love and happy.

“I remember when I was a little girl, we lived in Argo City, which was the…capital of our hemisphere—sort of like New York, only…clean. It was sprawling. The skyscrapers were so high they dipped into the red of our sun like…like paintbrushes and one of those skyscrapers was this...tall museum. That museum was like our greatest secret, because it showed what Krypton used to look like and my mother was always so sad when she took me there, but there was…one room that made her happy. It was...it had this great proscenium and there were holographs there, of what our planet looked like before the...sickness had taken it. The poison. Before it became so polluted that we had to live in Argo, which was, yes, beautiful, but it was also in a giant...bubble. I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?”

“You lived…in a bubble?”

“It kept us safe from the harshness of the atmosphere out of the city. The planet had become so irradiated that we couldn’t leave the biosphere.” Kara thoughtlessly explains, remembering fingers skimming along orbs of lesson plans devoted to the topic. “In the museum, there was this hologram of the West Hills which were...beautiful. Gorgeous. Rao painted them in this beautiful spectrum of reds that...that I’ve never seen here, on Earth. It was like how humans think Mars looks—which, that’s not how Mars looks, by the way—but there were pools of mercury underneath the red rock and the holograms showed the wildlife there. There were birds, in the hologram, and I remember being so...so transfixed because I’d never seen a bird, before. We hadn’t had them on our planet for so long that I remember my mother telling me she had never seen one in person, either. It was one of the last free days I had with my mother—the last, maybe—because she was so busy with sentencing. She was a justicar on our planet, did I ever tell you that?”

“No.” Catherine whispers and Kara doesn’t quite register the fact that she’s looking at her like how she looks at Carter, sometimes—like she’s overwhelmed by the way he ages in front of her eyes. “You haven’t.”

Kara realizes she hasn’t told Catherine much.

“Well…she was the high-judge for Argo City—the highest in all of Krypton, almost like a…Supreme Court judge, here. Only her final word was law without contest.” A shake of her head, derailed and ranting, a little, because the thought doesn’t make her nervous but it lodges against her chest like a rock and she hopes if she throws enough words at it, it’ll dislodge and tumble past her lips. “Anyways…We sat there and watched Rao—our beautiful, red sun—set on the West Hills in Argo City and she explained to me that her and my father were mates, that much I knew. I mean, that was obvious, but they weren’t like my Aunt and Uncle, who were bound just by marriage. They were... _loves._ The day before they were set to become joined—the day before they would have met for the first time—he snuck her out of her room and had taken her to that very museum and they danced underneath the setting sun by that very holograph of the West Hills. She told me the sun had set, but she knew it would rise with the beauty of…red in his eyes while the birds flew all around them in the empty proscenium. And he…” Her smile spreads, watery as her own eyes close, imagining something lost in time—a memory that isn’t even her own, like a fairytale whispered to a child before bed every night. “He pulled her close and whispered the…brand in her ear. The word we call them. Our, um…soulmates. Which is like…it’s like a vow, and she said she just _knew_. That a piece of herself would always be with him.”

“That sounds…beautiful.” Catherine whispers and Kara blinks away moisture, nodding, imagining the sun set behind them in blackness on a planet that was dying juxtaposed with the sun setting in the holograms of a planet that would never die—that would live as long as her parent’s love might—birds flying freely around them as they danced along Rao’s light.

It’s how she likes to imagine her parents, now, somewhere. Dancing underneath Rao.

“When you love— _loved_ —someone on Krypton, you loved them with your whole heart. If you chose to give them that part of you…” A breath. “We understood that they’re always with you. They don’t go away. However the world changes, they’re a _part_ of you. We call them your...life. Your love. Because they’re your future—your being—they’re part of you. We believed that your love, it was as much of a part of you as Rao, even when they left. We had a saying: ‘Like the sun sets on the West Hills, your life will rise again’. Every night the sun will set, but every morning...every morning they’ll be there. They’ll be a part of you.”

“That’s…” Catherine’s breath quivers and Kara is too wistful to ask why.

“We believed everyone on Krypton only had...one. One person who filled their heart so completely like that—who you gave all of yourself to, and we honored that. I believe that, I think…I think if I ever found that,” She’s careful to say, “That I would only have room in my heart for one, always. But I understand on Earth that...that’s not always the case. That your heart can belong to many people, and I think that’s just as important as one, Catherine. There’s many kinds of love, I know that now. But it’s just the same in principle, isn’t it?” Kara smiles, finger tracing along the line of her lover’s collarbone, “As the sun sets, when it rises they’ll still be with you. They created a piece of you and that person you were with them...they’re a part of you, and they’re a part of that person. So...of course I’m interested and, no, I’m not jealous. Because I was raised to believe that who you love is a _part_ of you, not something to be ashamed of, and you wouldn’t be the person I’m with now, if you hadn’t been with them before.”

The sentiment hangs heavily in the air but Kara’s never felt lighter.

“What do you call them?” Cat’s voice is curious--quiet--rumbling as she searches Kara’s face with something close to muted awe and Kara is so enamored with it she won’t catch the pressing _longing_ in the question until she replays the scene in her mind years later, dancing underneath Rao, herself. “What do you call your...mates, or these...connections of yours? Earth has searched for a word for that for a long time. English—French—Any language has tried, and none have come close.”

“Our mates are our _zrh ymin_. But we...we don’t speak of them like that, outside of…you don’t speak like that outside of your home.” She tries to say, cheeks flushing a little, eyes flicking away, because the weight of that was bred in her. “It’s a custom, an understanding—something...sacred inside of your home. Similar to a lot of Asian countries, here, how it’s an understood politeness, not to, um...not to say you love your spouse—truly love them—outside of your home. It’s inappropriate. Not as much private as it is…special. I don’t feel that way, I don’t think. I guess I’ve never been married, so I don’t know.” A laugh. “But the other word…” The laugh breaks. Her lips part and the easy mess of syllables catch on her tongue, letting a short breath out of her nose before looking down, offering a small smile, “I don’t think I can say it. It was...almost like a vow. Like getting married, on Krypton. Only...well, more important than marriage, because your life would always supersede your mate. I know it’s...it’s silly,” She laughs a little, chin ducking and nose scrunching, “Hearing it out loud I can just—it’s like I can _hear_ Alex making fun of me in the back of my head.” The second laugh is a hint of self-deprecating, but it stills when Catherine’s fingers so gently brush a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“It’s not silly.” It’s barely above a breath—reverent and gentle—and it eases any of the nerves still lighting up Kara’s skin, because she’s never really been allowed the chance to talk about it, at all. It would be easy to imagine her home was a dream—a far-off, faded memory—or something that was over with, done, the way people always hid the topic away. Or maybe Kara had expected them all to hide it away and that, coupled with the pain, caused a young girl to stop trying.

But she’s older, now, and wistfulness finds her tone instead of pain.

“I don’t think I could say it, Catherine. It’s a _promise_. A vow. And I wouldn’t—I would never break it.”

Kara doesn’t explain to her that she’s already said it.

“It’s okay, Kara.” Cat’s fingers brush along her chin, “Words have power. I understand.”

“It’s…” A breath, “It’s sacred.” Kara settles on and, amazingly, Catherine looks at her like she might understand—might understand more than Kara, even—Kara’s chin falling to rest on an open palm, “But my point is that you’ve had love in your life, Catherine. And no matter how long your life with them lasted, you still had people who had pieces of your heart. And I’d...like to hear about it. About all of them, if you’ll tell me.”

“I already told you.”

“I’m not pressing for more, I’m just saying I _understand_ if you—”

“Which do you want to hear about? The one who made me into an alcoholic, or the one who—” Cat lets a sharp breath out of her nose and looks physically stunned when Kara reaches down, patiently—lovingly—running fingers up her cheek, stopping her in her tracks. “You really want to know. About all of…” There’s a breath—a sucked in, curling breath—and Catherine seems to settle on one word to encompass the rest of any word she might have: “ _Me._ ”

“Every single moment.” Kara rests her arms on Cat’s chest, chin falling to rest on forearms as she smiles, peering down at her like an enraptured child waiting for storytime, “Any of them that you’ll share.”

Cat’s lips slowly spread into the smallest, most vulnerable smile Kara’s ever seen and she tugs her down to kiss her, Kara’s smile spreading against her lips—

“It’s a shame I can’t bring you as my date to the wedding, it would drive Joe nuts.”

Kara’s heart leaps into her throat.

“Well…I _would_ frown at you until you scratched whatever story you’ve been trying to come up with about your past with Joe out of your speech. Just because I’m sure you’re trying to navigate the delicate balance of making you look fabulous, his new wife jealous, and him look like a dufus. Not that I think I could make you do anything, but I would try.”

“Oh, how many times do I have to tell you to own your power?” Cat’s smile spreads—sly and easy—fingers brushing through hair to tuck it behind Kara’s ear. And she lets herself imagine it, for a moment, resting her head on Catherine’s shoulder to offer a small pillar of support while she watched a man she used to love dance away with a woman that will never be her—a happiness that wasn’t made for them.

“We both know you’re going to tell some beautiful, nostalgic story about how you hope he fills up jukeboxes full of quarters for her and that they’re happy.”

“Isn’t it cruel to wish that transient happiness on someone? I wouldn’t wish a marriage on Joe. They’re horrible.”

She imagines finally meeting Adam’s new girlfriend and asking about the pictures of him holding her in the palm of his hand over the raging water of Niagra Falls they’d posted all over Facebook—how did they take that picture, anyways, without actually flying?—and saving a dance for the most gorgeous woman at the wedding. But she’s certain that Carter will have the right to save that dance, instead, and Kara smiles, anyways, because Catherine looks a little lighter and maybe Adam will wind up getting a call from his mother, tomorrow, anyways.

“Well, the happiness with you…isn’t transient, Catherine.” Kara boldly murmurs instead of divulging any of that, arms sliding further up a waist and fingers painting constellations against her lover’s back. Catherine looks so stunned at the thought of it, at all—so taken aback—that she brushes those fingers higher to cup shoulders. To kiss her despite the faintest quiver of a tilting chin. To ease a back down onto the bed until they part and warm breath breaks against her lips. To move those constellations up to a clenching stomach and share something like a smile between them. “I know you want the happiness for Joe to be the same, even if it…hurts. Marriage, or not, I think…well, I don’t think happiness is always transient. It doesn’t have to be.”

“I’ll deny this if you ever even suggested it, Kara.” Cat murmurs, the tangled blonde hair fingers hadn’t quite unraveled covering the soft lines of her features in a curtain of bright shadows, “But I do.” A shivering breath, “I want him to be happy. We were children when we met, and we hurt each other so much…but he deserves something that isn’t bittersweet and…transient. He deserves something permanent—someone to truly grow old with. If just so that he’ll finally grow up.”

“So do you.” Kara ignores the tease, “You do know there’s nothing wrong with that, don’t you? Actively wishing happiness on someone, even if they hurt you.” Teeth tuck at a lip, “You’re the one that taught me that it was alright to believe you deserve happiness. And you’ll have a chance to tell him that, too. When it really counts.”

Cat hums a quiet, breaking noise in agreement, fingers lowering down to brush along Kara’s hands—that nail finding a ring of skin that makes her breath hitch and eyes close. “I’m happy that I found you. Or…you found me, didn’t you?”

The teeth tucking her lip don’t do much to hinder her spreading smile, raising up Catherine’s hand to brush lips along Catherine’s finger, in return.

“I think I had a little help finding you.” Kara provides, breath light and happy, remembering her mother’s words but thinking she’s already pressed her luck and there’s nothing quite like leaving on a high note. “Thank you…for telling me about them. Your husbands, I mean.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you everything. There’s one reason why this wedding will be _hilarious._ ” Cat sighs, smile spreading, thumb raising up between them to trace a lower lip and suddenly Kara can’t breathe from the heavy look in her gaze. “Are you sure you want to—”

“Everything, Catherine.” Kara promises. “All of you.”

And miraculously, Catherine starts at the beginning, the sun far set until it starts to rise along the tearful, nostalgic smile spreading across her lips with each and every story about Joe Morgan—a man who used to carry change in his pockets and drank too much for the both of them and raised her first son—who’s going to get married for the first time in two in a half decades in a month.

And Kara falls more and more in love with Catherine each tick of the sun dial along the West Hills of a cheek and prays the word to stay on her thick tongue before it bursts forth from the drum of her heart.

 _Ehrosh,_ Kara wants to murmur against the ridges of Catherine’s ear underneath the dancing red light of Rao— _Ehrosh,_ she wants to bury against the beat of a drum buried so deep in their lungs— _Ehrosh,_ Kara wants to promise until her lover might understand that the many of Earth is one for her, but Sol is all she has here and a promise is still a promise if it’s not voiced. So she voices it with the brush of her lips, instead. With the tip of her chin and the earnest loyalty of her eyes as Catherine weaves the story of her life to the only reporter that will never sell it.

 _Ehrosh_ , Kara knows, and knows without a doubt that Catherine knows it, too.

But Catherine doesn’t ask and Kara, maybe uncharacteristically, doesn’t tell her, anyways, and wonders if the Earth equivalent is in the _always_ she whispers along the ridges of the shaking mountains of her fists—finds _always_ in the words of a lover who she can only hope is less transient than their happiness is.

It’s only when a heartbeat evens against her shoulder, full stories dying in the way of a happy, sleeping hum, that Kara sneaks away to another pile of burning rubble—another leftover fight of ash—and the unspoken word fills her heart with light even when her arms sag wearily by her sides.

Another building burns before her as she pulls a hacking, stuttering Matthew Lampton from its crumbling wood, barely managing to wrap herself around him before the fires might engulf the last of the light in kind, blue eyes. His face is covered in soot and the smell of burnt flesh fills Kara’s lungs so succinctly that she might gag if she wasn’t used to it, but there’s something about his dazed _eyes_ , when they open and focus on her that looks…familiar.

“Supergirl—you—you ca—” He hacks, again, and she wraps him in her cape, barely managing to pass him off to the EMT’s before Vasquez chirps in her ear—another fire downtown.

“I’ve met him.” Kara whispers, racing against wind to a fire across the city, but she doesn’t have time to dwell, not when screams of horror meet her ears. But even as she scans the building, she can’t shake the image of his eyes—there’s something about them, something familiar—and she wonders if she’s saved everyone in this city so many times that it’s all starting to blur together.

But she knows--she  _knows_ \--she's met him.

\--

They arrive together out of pure, thoughtless circumstance, Kara touching down in an alleyway a few moments before Cat’s heels are set to make their striking, familiar chorus through the halls, both of them meeting in front of the door.

Cat leans a little too closely in greeting, however professional, and Kara accidentally spills her latte on a blouse, blinking in abject horror at the stain and very, very unamused eyes of her lover greet her.

It’s a learned habit of the clumsy ex-assistant that compels her to immediately scramble towards the lobby bathroom, but Cat just grabs her by the wrist and tugs her into an elevator, tapping a foot in a way that hammers far louder than Kara’s stampeding heart. Which is impressive, given the fact that her shoulders practically curl inwards and she looks up at the numbers that…aren’t moving.

Because somewhere along the first and fifth floors, Cat had slapped the emergency button.

Kara sucks in a sharp, slow breath, eyes flicking over and up to the numbers before over again, that insistent tapping only growing louder.

“Strip.”

“Stri—” A slow, measured blink, trying to focus on the numbers as she breathes and slowly unhooks buttons of an oxford in realization, offering it up to Catherine with a sheepish, still-horrified look. “Right. I’m _so_ sorr—”

“Ah.” A hand snaps up between them as Cat makes short work of sliding out of her own blouse, as graceful as ever and Kara’s vision is obscured for a moment when she’s just as gracefully hit in the face with it. Blinking again behind fabric to tug it off, adjusting askew glasses to see Catherine just…slide a mint-green shirt onto her shoulders like it was meant to be worn—like it’s a Casual Friday that she actually pays attention to—rolling up the sleeves until they’re knotted, the fabric loose on a small frame in a way that makes Kara shamelessly stare.

Which is how she realizes she’s standing half-naked in an elevator holding a coffee-stained blouse, yearning as she gazes at her lover and boss in _her shirt._

At work.

“I don’t have time for you to stare at me like a piece of meat, Kara.” Cat snaps and Kara stops long fingers before they can once more slap against the emergency button to resume their ascent, suddenly bold and wanting as she presses her up against the elevator’s wall, catching lips in a slow, searing kiss.

She kisses Catherine until fingers tangle in the snap of a bra and a moan buries itself against her mouth and if there’s one thing better than seeing Cat Grant in her shirt, it’s seeing it mussed from a body pressing so closely to it.

“No suit.” Cat drags hands down Kara’s breasts in a way that suggests she might have time, this morning, after all, and Kara’s chin tips back.

“It’s at the…dry cleaners.”

Cat stops.

“That was a joke?” Kara offers when the stopping stays stopped, slowly tipping a chin up to see Catherine’s unamused look, “I actually don't know where it is. Technically. I’ve been in a lot of fires, this week. It’s…being...okay, I guess not as much cleaned as patched up. And I’m sorry, for this, I know you’re busy. I just—you just—” Her breath catches, “You just looked so… _you_. Which is beautiful. And you’re, um…well,” A hint of a gesturing hand downwards, “You’re in my shirt.”

Cat clucks her tongue but there’s a softness to the tough ridges along her eyes, turning back on her heel to face the doors, “I should force you into _my_ second outfit.” Fingers snap open a compact before knowing fingers dutifully fix mussed hair before working on her own. “Maybe then you’ll actually look like a grown-up.”

Kara beams, twisting forward to face the elevator doors, shrugging on a stained blouse. “Making out with the CEO of the largest media conglomerate in the world in her private elevator makes me feel like an adult.” Her beam only turns brighter at the down-turned tug of said CEO’s lips, because there’s an unmistakable glint in her eyes that wasn’t there a few minutes prior.

“No declarations, Kara.” Cat snaps. “That should include declaring how giddy banging the boss makes you feel.”

“You do realize, Ms. Grant…” Kara’s beam might push its luck, “That telling me you’re not declaring anything is a method of declaration all on its own? In fact, every time you say _no declarations_ , I might take that…as a declaration.”

Cat’s scowl is visible in the sliding shimmer of metal in front of her…but Kara sees the way her lips barely twitch upwards the moment they step off the elevator.

“Is…” Eve’s eyes widen the moment they gross the distance, “Um…”

“Close the venus fly trap, Eve.” Cat snaps and Kara wonders when she put her sunglasses on because it definitely wasn’t in the elevator and she didn’t _see it_. Eve dutifully tucks back up her jaw. “Kara clumsily spilled half of her paycheck on me in the form of tasteless, burnt pumpkin _whatever_ and I refuse to walk through the office soiled. Though I’m certain this,” A wrist waves downwards in explanation, “Eyesore is about as much of a morale cruncher.”

“Oh.” Eve’s eyes settle on Kara. “Kay?”

Kara doesn’t say anything. She just hums and _beams_ and Eve looks warily between the two of them before Cat snaps, “We’ll be in my office.” And slams the door shut.

Behind the doors, Cat practically prowls towards her with something far more sinister than sexual intent—the eyes of a fashionista that’s sought an opportunity.

"...Cat?" The joviality dies as she backs up against a slab of marble she'd once cracked, Cat's hands pinning her there with a predatory look that makes Supergirl gulp.

"Oh, this will be fun."

It’s how Kara winds up stumbling into the DEO in a two-thousand dollar outfit with matching heels to die for hours later, penance and a lesson served not quite sinking in despite Alex’s hollering the moment she clicks her way into the CIC. Mon-El gapes and Winn trips and Vasquez whistles something a wolf would be proud of through her fingers and even the blush doesn’t make her regret the image of Cat Grant in an oxford for the entire day. Not when she wore it so well.

“Come _onnn_ it’s Cat’s—” Kara tries explaining for the fifteenth time when Alex snaps the fabric of a strap, blush rivaling a cape that should really be waiting for her, by now. It’s not Cat’s, actually—it’s particularly Kara’s; Cat’s dress would never fit her, tailored to perfect for maximum effect, but it didn’t stop her annoyed kind-of-boss from ordering something just for her to make a point—but it feels like it’s certainly not Kara’s. The looks at CatCo she could manage. This—

“Uh, is it literally Freaky Friday?”  Winn asks, “Are you going to throw a latte at someone? Oh wait no, please don't tell me red-k-Kara is back, because we did _not_ get along with red-k—”

“It’s just a dress! Can we get back to the punching?”

“Why punch when you can just stab someone with those heels?” Alex smirks and Kara just groans.

It takes her two seconds to swipe a very important text:

_I’m never spilling anything on you, again._

“Nice dress, Supergirl.” J’onn, however, just smiles at her and suddenly Kara doesn’t mind so much, again. He looks thoughtful for a moment, “But it looks less comfortable than the skirt.”

“Thank you, J'onn, but oh,” Kara sighs, kicking off her heels and shoving Alex’s shoulder before she can make a stabbing motion with them, “You’ve got no idea.”

“You’d be surprised.” It’s a rumbling hum in J’onn’s velvet vibrato and everyone looks at him before they shrug, getting back to work. Maybe J’onn will actually come to game night, tonight because Kara would love to hear all about it.

Her phone pings and Kara doesn't bother hiding her pout from any of the agents around her before skulking towards the quarters with bare feet and a sad huff through her nostrils.

_**I'll take that losing bet any day. Promises you can't keep? I held you to higher standards, Supergirl.** _

Because, really, she has no grounds to contradict her.

_You're enjoying this too much._

The only reason Kara's shoulders raise a little bit, at all, is because she swears she can hear a boisterous, amused (slightly unnerving) laugh halfway across the city and smiles despite herself. She doesn't see the response until hours later, immediately shoving away her phone into a boot with a blush so red it rivals the fabric she buckles, clearing her throat. 

Alex raises eyebrows. 

 _ **Exceedingly**_.

"Oh, that look." Fingers wave, "That _look_. Weekend my ass!" It's called around the corner and Kara might use a touch of superspeed to scurry away if only because she hears Alex's laughter dance along the empty DEO halls and it's doing nothing to stop the spreading touch of _Rao_ up her neck to her cheeks.

\--

“So…so you think the prose is ok—"

Catherine’s frustrated voice cuts through the house like a sharp knife (as sharp as Catherine’s wit) and Kara ignores Carter’s wide eyes to lean back from the island, shrugging a shoulder at his look when she stands mid-question.

“The prose is great, Carter. Let me just…make sure she’s—”

“It’s your funeral.” Carter offers and she stops, for a moment, watching the way his brows knit and his hands raise in an almost mirror reflection of his mother. The Saturday sun is bright in dark locks and she wonders if they would grow blonder underneath Sol’s relentless attention—if he would look more like his mother in appearance if he took to a beach—but she thinks he looks perfect like this, too. His nose nervously buried in a book, bright eyes flicking upwards towards his mother’s closed-off outburst before settling on his weekend tutor.

The fact that she’s not his mother’s assistant, anymore, hasn’t once come up in conversation between them—neither has the idea that she’d ever stop coming by on Saturday to help—and with the resemblance so strong, she has to resist the urge to run her fingers reverently through his hair. That’s a physical boundary she’s not sure Carter would appreciate her crossing without permission and she has far more pressing, angry, yelling things to deal with at the moment. So she blinks and _smiles_ at him before shrugging and offering her most confident nod:

“She won’t kill me.” He doesn’t look convinced and, honestly, Kara isn’t all that convinced herself, mumbling _probably_ as she crosses through the apartment towards the source. It doesn’t take long to find it, of course, and soon Kara is leaning against the cracked-open doorway of a brilliantly-lit study. Fingers immediately curl underneath the warmth of the sun spilling through windows, but there’s that ever-present _heat_ when she spots the woman pacing amidst it. Because there’s Cat Grant in all of her glory, furious and tense, hand waving through the air as she yells at someone who’s made her life miserable this week and likely cost her company thousands, voice reverberating through the small space of elegant glass and soft whites like a boisterous trombone in an orchestra hall. And when Cat clicks off the line after a few more minutes of yelling, obviously oblivious to Kara’s presence, it’s with a tense finality that hasn’t been around since phones were actually able to be hung up.

Cat tosses her phone onto the nearby couch with a sharp curse, hands pushing through her hair, and when she whirls around, Kara doesn’t move at the stunned look that greets her in a wordless hello. Instead, she gently pushes off the open doorway into the space, closing it behind her with a soft click, certain steps guiding her into the study with even more certain, gentler eyes.

“Wow, books are getting noisier to write, these days.” Kara offers, and Cat huffs through her nose, hands settling on hips.

“Kara—”

And even bolder, Kara steps further, still, gently unraveling the noose knots of fingers from their vice-grip around hips, thumbs smoothing at the muscles of a wrist until Cat relaxes, just a little, underneath her touch.

“You okay?” The question seems to take Cat off-guard more than her lover’s sudden appearance had. Cat gets like this, she’s learned—she becomes so involved that she forgets to look up—and while laser focus is fantastic for editing and spotting out the truth, a home made of wood might set ablaze from it.

“I’m fine.” But her voice is sharp and cool and when Cat whirls around, again, moving towards her phone, Kara slides up behind her to stem the furious motion, hands sliding up stiff shoulders, thumbs smoothing along tense, rolling muscles. “Oh, that’s not fair.” Cat’s voice starts sharp but slowly trembles into something rumbling, shoulders rolling back into a sure touch as her whole frame sags underneath muscles that no longer seem to want to carry voiceless burdens. “That’s criminal. You’re fighting dirty.”

“Learned from the best.” The quip is gentle, soothing along the ridge of an ear and just like that, Catherine laughs and this sunshine room seems a little brighter. There’s still that tension in a curving spine, even when Kara stops massaging and wraps arms around her waist, but it’s a small, beautiful victory that she’ll take with both hands and a brilliant smile.

“If that’s your way of suggesting I massage you, it’s not going to work.”

“Well, it was worth a shot.” Lips brush over a temple, smile spreading when fingers finally raise up to skim nails up her biceps, hesitant but _familiar._ Comfortable. “Really, you okay?”

“I’m going to spend the better part of next month debating the finer intricacies of our suppliers to the board thanks to a mistake in our accounting department. Which is…”

True, then. Kara had heard the rumors herself, of course, but she _never_ put much stock in any rumor until Cat confirmed them.

“Not something you think James is up to handling?” Kara guesses, eyes flicking over to those scattered papers left abandoned on a writer’s desk.

“It’ll be a learning opportunity for him, that’s sure.” And Kara can hear her heart skip even underneath the stilted drag of her nails, senseless patterns forming on unmarkable skin from distracted fingers. Kara might be looking towards a barely-started book, but Catherine is lost somewhere else entirely—a place she’s not certain she could reach.

“They’re still pushing you to let go of the _Trib_ , aren’t they.” Cat’s fingers still and her head hangs back and when a hum assents from that tipping neck, Kara’s hesitant on how to proceed because this is one area where she really, really doesn’t know how to console.

“You’re not lingering back there trying to shrink me, are you?” Cat avoids in her very unfortunately astute way.

“What? No, I—” A hint of a nervous laugh tumbles into a sigh, gently turning around those sagging shoulders until their eyes can meet—until she can brush fingers through the hair that’s fallen in front of eyes from a messy bun that’s adorned locks of unkempt golden around Catherine’s softening eyes more and more often, these days. Catherine, Kara’s learned, likes to pin her hair up with pencils when she writes—actually _writes_ —donning an old sweatshirt that isn’t actually hers while fingers skim along keys.

When Kara had curiously asked why a few weeks ago, Cat had just _hummed_ , fingers skimming along a cheek before she murmured:

_“Writing is all done on computers, these days. This way I still feel like there’s a bit of lead in my bones, even if my knuckles aren’t sore after.”_

“ _And the sweatshirt?_ ” Kara had teased from her perch in a lap, lazily watching as her lover worked, thumb boldly skimming along the black, chipping embossing of _NCU_ , Carter asleep and her roommate oblivious to her momentary absence.

 _“Well…nothing wrong with feeling close to the subject, either, is there?_ ”

But the majority of pages on Catherine’s laptop, or on her desk, have remained blank and it’s a small, understanding smile that tips up lips, “No. I’m just understanding why you’re so tense. Which doesn’t involve the, um…shrinking, as much as it involves me…knowing you.” Cat looks like she wants to protest but leans into a curving hand in a beautiful contradiction, breath quivering against Kara’s palm. “You…really don’t know how to let go, do you, Cat?”

“Maybe not.” She untangles herself, then, moving over to the desk to tidy up a mess of papers and with each flick of her wrist, Kara watches that back that’s built skyscrapers grow tenser and tenser underneath the sunshine-glare of glasses, “James…I’m certain in time James will be more than capable of running my company. He’s rusty on the financials and I’m…this crisis will undoubtedly teach him what he needs on that side. He’ll have to lean into our accounting department, which is understandable—I’ve always been aware of my micro-managing nature after fear of that little…coup d’etat, a few years ago. That came from constantly being involved in financials. I’ve set procedures in place for that, but the _Trib_ —”

“You’re worried he won’t fight for the _Trib_.” It’s a quiet realization—one that, once voiced, seems to only tighten the spool of Catherine’s spine further and further around clenching lungs.

“He has a newspaper background. He worked with me for years before I left and…I’m certain he knows how important the _Trib_ is, to me, but it’s becoming more and more difficult not to notice how…obsolete it is. How instead of celebrating how long it would last, years ago, I’m very well aware that each second I cling to it isn’t the many but the few. And, I’ll admit, it’s difficult for me to stand idly by and be so _close_ when…” Cat slaps down a few of the papers in a messy cascade that ruins the past thirty second’s idle work, curling fingers around the lip of a desk before Kara once more slides up behind her, careful not to touch. But she doesn’t know how to be so close and not do anything, either.

Catherine had promised to step away, but she’s done anything but, Kara knows—sharp conversations morphing into a nightly occurrence of frustration. Blank pages. Empty Saturdays. Kara’s gotten the distinct impression of someone clinging to a rope with their dying breath before accepting their fate and letting go, fingers tensing around fraying rope tighter and tighter with each blow of uncertainty and resolution.

It’s not a metaphor she likes, because Catherine deserves…well, Catherine deserves the world of happiness, the moment she sought it out, not whatever look is on her features, now.

Because it’s all about CatCo, isn’t it? It has to be.

“I had to cross the country to let go of my son, Kara. What depths of the Earth will I have to trudge through in order to let go of…”

It’s all about CatCo. It has to be.

Her breath catches and Kara’s brows knit and when arms once more wrap around her waist, Cat immediately sags into her this time. But there’s something far deeper than the rasp of Catherine’s unusually quiet—vulnerable—voice, a world of _somethings_ Kara will never hear the meanings behind:

“When I let go of my company.”

“Catherine...” A shaky, unsure breath, voice sounding far more certain because it needs to be: “Leave the cell phone and come out and spend Saturday with Carter helping him with his English homework. I can only edit an essay once for content before he catches on that I shamelessly abuse Word’s little squiggly lines that tell me when something is misspelled.”

“You really don’t have any grip on spelling.” Cat whispers and Kara shrugs, bringing her closer, nose settling in the crook of a neck. “Which is why I still find it impressive that you’ve managed to survive as a junior editor underneath Snapper’s wrath until you actually manage to slip something through to be published.”

Kara doesn’t inform Cat that the last three weeks has been full of a _lot_ of googling.

“There aren’t words I can offer to fix all of this—I know you’re not looking to fix it, that, wow that was the wrong word. Fix was the wrong word. It’s just…” Kara laughs a little and, amazingly, Cat just once more turns in her arms, fingers raising up to skim along the rim of black glasses. “This isn’t something that will be fixed, Catherine. The only thing I can do is be supportive and tell you that it’s not going to matter how many people you yell at, today. You can teach James how to be vicious Monday—”

Cat huffs a snort of a laugh, “Like he has an ounce of _vicious_  in those muscles.”

“—and you can come spend Saturday with Carter. And me. The second part is optional, but I really wouldn’t mind it.”

“And my book?” Cat’s teeth tuck her lip and Kara just raises her eyebrows, “Oh, that look. _That_ you learned from me.”

“The disapproving doctor look? I’m pretty sure I learned it from my sister.” Kara’s smile spreads and Cat _laughs_ and just…nods, letting Kara tug a tired mother out into dining room where a nervous-looking Carter has stayed faithfully perched, obviously having chewed more on his lips than his sandwich.

He’s tensed any time Cat’s even mentioned work the past months—though Kara wonders if he always had and she’d never known him enough to notice the small ways he would withdraw—and when he focuses only on his pencil and focuses on breathing, Kara hopes Cat doesn’t notice.

But she does—of course she does—and her voice is impossibly soft when she offers:

“A little birdie told me you’re working on an essay.”

A toothy smile spreads, fingers curling in the edges of over-sized sleeves, gaze skittering from his mother to Kara, who squeezes Cat’s shoulders and gently guides her to a tugged out chair before Catherine plops down. A few more strands of blonde fall out of her messy pencil bun and Carter looks up at Kara like he’s astonished before older blue eyes offer a singular wink, sliding away to give them space, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah, um…Kara’s really helping me with it but...” Hopeful eyes flick up towards another pair of blue—towards an office—and ultimately settle on his mother with that happy, spreading grin, any hint of anxiety gone. “But do you think you could read it over, too?”

“Carter, of course. I’d love to. Let’s see how your prose is improving, young man.”

Kara slips away into the kitchen, focusing on the warmth of her heart instead of the clench of her stomach, listening to the two Grants talk about the finer points of syntax. Wordlessly, she quietly folds her glasses and sets them by the sink, letting the world flood her senses and mute into a familiar hum of safe noise, listening to two distinct heartbeats punctuate passionate voices.

A few hours later she’ll slip away to douse another fire, flames higher and brighter, arms curling a child she _remembers_ against her chest as she fights against the ash filling gasping air—she’ll fail and hold a brittle mess of bones against a crest once bathed in flames until the ambulance arrives—but right now she slowly turns the faucet on and smiles, flexing fingers before she starts on the few dishes piled up.

Cat will give her a look when the kitchen’s spotless like she always does—will insist that Kara doesn’t _have to_ do that, anymore—and Kara will tip up her chin and peck a cheek and slide glasses back on a scrunching, happy noise before nodding, taking comfort in the sound of Carter watching TV in the other room.

Taking even more comfort in the fact that it’s not the sound of  _The_ _Sopranos_.

“I know I don’t. That’s why I want to.”

The night whispers unassuming wind through blonde hair as Battalion Chief Rucko kneels beside her in the dirtied asphalt of _16 th Street_, hand cupping the fabric of a suit that doesn’t burn, murmuring the same words in her ear because she isn’t a part of his unit—isn’t a part of anyone’s save for a woman rushing to the scene in black fatigues adorned with even blacker circles under caring eyes, cape fluttering in the breeze of air that only licks the flames higher and higher into the sky—but they’ve come across each other enough over the years to form a kinship.

“ _You don’t have to wait, Supergirl—”_

Rucko has three daughters and she doesn’t want him to bear the weight of holding such a small, frail body until the ambulance nears because it’s a burden that only a cape might not break underneath. Kara thinks of the way she’d hesitated running her fingers through Carter’s locks only a few hours before—thinks of the way this girl (Annie, she’ll learn a few days later because she'd never learned the girl's name) had bright eyes that looked just like his—and runs soot-stained fingers through those curls, now, before she can forget never giving the girl solace, even after she's left them all behind. And Kara--

She doesn’t burn. She doesn’t bleed. She doesn’t gasp.

(But her fingers won’t feel clean no matter how hard she tries to scrub them, tonight, resisting the urge to curl against Mon-El’s chest and _weep_ when he asks what’s wrong.)

“I know.” Kara’s fingers keep gently brushing through singed hair and the men of the battalion surround her like a shield from prying eyes—surround the girl she holds in her final moments—no one left on the street to mourn her but the knowing, tired eyes huddled around. They've all seen so much loss--more than maybe any of them have prevented--and maybe that's what kinship of this kind is. “I know I don’t. That’s why I want to.”

Blue blinks.

“You know I hate clichés and asking might be one, but…”

“I’ll be fine tomorrow,” Kara husks along the line and even to her own ears, her voice sounds faint across the distance, fingers turning around the once-gold of a burnt pencil in her palm. The scent of Catherine’s hair had burnt off the small little trinket hours ago and glassy blue flutters closed as she curls further into herself on the bed, eyes flicking towards a couch where a snore threatens to shake the whole apartment.

She’d turned down the offer of Alex’s apartment enough times to become a little tired of the words _fine_ and had smiled so widely that the temper of it must have forged itself in steel before it crumbled and Alex gave her a look that came with pointed instructions to call the moment she needed her before familiar eyes had settled towards a tired detective down the edge of the street. A woman whose fingers pushed through tangled brown strands and inhaled a cup of coffee like the secret to life.

They’d gone to get breakfast and Alex’s look of worry only deepened when Kara denied the offer.

Kara still only knows two facts about Maggie Sawyer, her sister’s newest friend—becoming just as much of a firm presence in their lives as Lena has seem to become, lately—because Alex shifts and changes the subject every time an inquisitive mind asks, so _two_ is all she's gathered: Maggie Sawyer is a ‘damn fine detective’ (as Alex, in her usual mode of contradiction, both fondly and begrudgingly admits); Maggie Sawyer lives off of caffeine like Dracula on blood.

Kara doesn’t have the heart to inform her sister that she’s pretty sure she’s found her professional soulmate.

So she’d come home to Mon-El’s boisterous grin that faltered a few minutes after realizing her shoulders would remain staunchly unlifted throughout the night—she’d come home to Mon-El’s oddly caring hands—she’d come home to Mon-El shifting nervously around the apartment as he moved to clean up the mess he’s made without her asking, for once, hesitantly offering company unlike the way he’s offered _other_ sorts of company for the past month.

He squeezed her wrist and she _felt_ it and he tucked up her chin to wipe off a hint of soot and scrunched his nose and bumbled so much with the offer to _help_ , like the word tasted foreign on his tongue—like it made him nervous and self-conscious—and she patted his cheek before thanking him and, ultimately, curling into bed.

The offer, alone, seemed to quell his conscience because Mon-El fell asleep on the couch approximately fifty-two seconds after asking, his snoring rattling the apartment in a way that, oddly, had come to make her feel comfortable. Because the noise is as constant as a heartbeat and she knows just as much as she knows that Cat loves her, that Mon-El _cares_. He just doesn't know how to say it.

But the company she wanted wasn’t Mon-El, or her sister—

“Kara.”

“I’ll be fine, Catherine.” Kara insists, curling in further on the small little phone with a hoarse throat like a wounded kitten protecting her young.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”  

“You…really don’t need to—I lost someone. It happens. It happens more often than people know, but you really—you—” A hiss of breath perpetuates a beat that turns into a dozen of them, hesitating: “Could you…”

Suddenly Kara would do anything to be in that lake, again, plummeting down into ice because all she feels in her bones is _heat._

The silence draws out, filled only with restless snoring and the sound of shifting across the room and Catherine, somewhere, breathing.

“Kara.” Catherine’s voice is laced with sleep and concern but for once, the journalist doesn’t ask a single question. Maybe it’s been all over CatCo’s platforms, already—everyone knows about the fires that keep popping up around the city with more and more frequency and likely they’re all alerted to the spattering flames—or maybe Cat can hear the weariness of Kara’s voice, a taut string that’s desperately on the edge of snapping, and no one in the world will remember that little girl, at all. Kara will see to it that that isn’t the case. Lois was right, there’s a hint of power she does still have, even when she’s powerless. It’s a concept she’s certain Catherine would understand, but doesn’t voice, eyes refusing to close in case tears might slip out. “What do you need?”

“Can you stay on the line with me?” Kara swallows, mouth dry and eyes wrenched shut and the breath tumbles out of her lips, “I—I know I—Cat, I feel silly even asking but—”

“Shush.” It’s gentle and full of sleep and Kara hears her shift—hears Catherine’s breath filter in through the line and she wishes, for a moment, that she could hear her heartbeat, too, but this is…close. It’s good enough. “Close your eyes, Kara.”

“Okay.” A sigh and Kara does, trembling fingers dragging the phone closer up to its perch, hoping that the quiver of her breath doesn’t give away her tears. “Okay. How’s Carter’s paper going?”

Carter, fortunately, is a topic that always loosens a mother’s lips, an excited, quiet rumble ticking upwards towards undeniably proud, any hint of the lingering tense steel from the weeks before melting away to something soft and fond. And it’s easy enough for Kara to imagine that she’s back in the kitchen, the faint sound of running water accompanying the happy hum of Catherine’s voice.

For once, Kara falls asleep before Catherine does and she’ll never know what the other woman murmurs to her after her head sags, but when she wakes, it’s to the sound of a pan clinging across the city, a phone undeniably brought through the Grant household, likely tucked by a hip.

Mon-El’s snoring, still, the faint sunlight shining through blinds she’d closed, for once, the night before. It warms stained cheeks and curling fingers, shifting in sheets, and a slow, swimming smile spreads across her features when she hears the faint sound of Carter asking a muffled question through the line.

It’s far enough away to where she can’t understand it, but it must be asking the location of something if Cat’s response is any indication, humming and thoughtless, and Kara listens for a couple of seconds before she slowly curves onto her back, the weight on her shoulders sifting down into tough springs and worn sheets like sand settling in an hourglass.

She listens for a few more minutes, the sounds soothing in a way she'll never be able to place in any language, before breaking her end's silence:

“Thank you.” It’s a rasp of a whisper and Kara hears another mumbled shout from Carter before the line shuffles and Catherine’s awake, beautiful, measured voice comes through crystal clear on the other end.

“Good morning.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes slide over to closed blinds, watching the shadows shift like a two-toned kaleidoscope through drawn white as she sucks in a slow breath, blinking away dry eyes and sore lungs. That swimming smile remains. “Good morning.”

“Are you okay?”

It’s a loaded question and Cat doesn’t do nearly as good of a job as controlling the concern in that question as her greeting had but Kara lets out a slow breath.

“Yeah.” She has to be—she always is—and she curls back in on her side, trying to focus in on the sound of breathing halfway across the city over the inhale of air across her apartment. “I’m okay. Thank you, Catherine.” And before Cat can shrug it off, Kara murmurs, “Really. I'm okay. You...you didn’t have to do this. Thank you.”

There’s a long pause.

“I know.” Cat sets something down and in the background Carter yells something unintelligible and the city fades away to what Kara imagines is a small, loving smile, “That’s why I wanted to.”

Carter’s a little closer, now, and she can hear him excitedly talking about his field trip next Friday to the Museum, Catherine’s attention understandably (expectedly) divided for the moment being. Kara blinks back tears, slowly hefting herself up onto weary knees before flicking open drawn blinds, feeling the warmth of a yellow sun and the brightness of Catherine’s voice as she responds to her son, and smiles.

\--

It's six months and three weeks when Kara breaks what might be the most important rule, and can’t bring herself to care.

Because Catherine was right. The moment they opened these flood gates, there was no hope in closing them, and each day that passes, the words grow thicker and thicker on her tongue.

It’s with as little fanfare or reason as how they wound up together in the first place—it just happens, whether by a twist of fate or an overwhelming need—because it rolls over Kara’s shoulders only a week later, the Thursday before Carter’s field trip, tongue barely parting over lips.

They’re naked and tangled, a half-read book interrupted and forgotten by Catherine’s bedside and their skin creates a painter’s palate of white hues illuminated by the desklamp next to golden hair. There's a faint breeze from the window Kara had left open when she'd slipped in, tickling both of their chins and dancing a few pages of the book every couple of minutes, the faint rustling lost to a far more pleasant sound. Her lover’s voice is excited—exuberant—because Cat finally had a breakthrough with her editor about the content for her book and Kara’s fingers just brush along a collarbone, feeling that ever-present thump against her fingers mingling with a low, calm voice.

She can still smell fire in the back of her nose, but when she dips closer, she can smell ink and perfume and _Catherine_ and just like that, Kara doesn’t see the point in keeping it so close to her chest, anymore.

She leans down, lips brushing over the lower ridge of an ear--whispering something that causes Catherine’s spine to tighten, her shoulders stilling and hands pausing mid-expression—and when Kara pulls away, she sees tears there from the surprise of it, hands cupping cheeks with sure thumbs.

The silence stretches but, for some reason, Kara isn’t nervous.

“I thought I said,” Cat’s voice is a gasp, rattling, and Kara’s smile just spreads. There’s still no nerves—there never would be for something she means so _fully_ ; that she feels deep down to her core—and her chin tips back to watch the emotions flicker across her lover’s face like an artist visiting her greatest inspirations’ exhibit. “No declarations.”

“Yeah.” Kara murmurs, “I guess you did.”

“You’re declaring.” But it quivers at the edges, breathless, like a woman who’s used to straightening her shoulders with the breath of her lungs, alone. And normally it works very, very well for Cat, but Kara can see the moisture in her eyes and the part of her lips and Kara’s face lights up with the weight of the truth bubbling from her chest.

“Yeah.” Kara says, again, not deterred in the least, voice quiet and content—as soft as the thumbs that smooth over cheeks. “I love you.” She repeats, louder, promising it in a restless breath against Cat’s lips, feeling the way she sucks in that same breath against warm skin. “I love you so much that I can barely breathe, sometimes, Catherine.”

“Kara—” Cat uselessly tries and Kara shakes her head, thumb brushing over a lower lip.

“You don’t have to say it back. Really. I mean it. You can even pretend I didn’t say anything if it makes it easier.” She promises, searching those endless, captivating eyes, “I just want you to know. I want you to know when you wake up in the morning that I’m somewhere across the city thinking about you and wishing I was here. That the first thing I do whenever I’m gone is check on whatever trinket you’ve given me that day and I think of you. I want you to know that somewhere in the world, the person who knows the most of you,” The calm in her voice trembles like the edges of storm, at the thought, “That I am... _so_ honored to know, loves you with every single piece of my heart.”

“Kara.” It's a cluttered _gasp_ , a hand shakily raising to lips and Kara lowers them to kiss quivering digits. A palm. Knuckles. And then Kara kisses _her_ , searing and slow and quiet. Repeating:

“I _love_ you.” When their lips break apart, nipping her lips again and again before she chases a smile down a jaw—a neck—an ear, “I love you.” That wonderful pulse kicks underneath her tongue and she lowers her mouth over the rapidly-beating heart it represents, sighing at the feeling of Catherine’s fingers tangling in her hair, holding her close instead of pushing her away, and Kara tips her chin back to watch the way the light catches frightened eyes in a whisper of shadows and life. She leans into a hand that pushes hair from blue eyes, tucking it behind an ear, and leans forward to kiss a forehead with a soft, loving, genuine smile, murmuring against skin, “I love you, _Ehrosh_.” It’s a vow—a wisp of air expelled straight from her heart to her lips, “Who you are, who you were, who you will be. I just love you. And I think it's time I told you," Teeth tuck a lip, "Isn't it?”

“Well, then.” Catherine swallows and she doesn’t say it but Kara can see it in her eyes—in the way she leans closer and kisses her, fingers so gentle as they brush through her hair and holds Kara here. “Fuck that rule.” She says, decidedly, “Because I think I just might be interested in hearing that…” A shaking breath, their eyes meeting as their foreheads slot, “For the rest of my life.”  

Kara kisses her so thoroughly in response that she doesn’t even remember her own name because she knows—she knows—that it’s Catherine’s way of telling her she loves her, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No kryptonian translations. 
> 
> But if you want to yell at me for any reason, feel free to poke me on my [Tumblr](http://begonefoulsoftdrink.tumblr.com). (Begonefoulsoftdrink)


End file.
